Tales From Cyrodiil: A Second Cold Light
by SickleYield
Summary: Continuation of the story in TFC: The Cold Light of Day. The further adventures of Agronak gro Malog following his death in the Arena. T for violence and themes.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is the fourth installment in the Tales from Cyrodiil series (perhaps more aptly named the Orcs and Vampires series). It is a direct sequel to and continuation of _Tales From Cyrodiil: The Cold Light of Day_. If you haven't read that one, this one will make no sense. Go back and read it. Really. I'll wait right here.

As a reminder, in the TFC Universe the Hero of Kvatch has performed mostly just the Main Quest, partly because she kept getting thrown out of guilds. Many side quests have been performed by other characters or not performed at all. If you're curious about the TFC Universe's Hero, _TFC: Luckless _is about her.

I will probably refer to characters and situations from my other stories, too, but those will be more of a bonus for those who have read them.

Chapter 1: Prologue

He had a name, but no one knew it.

Mostly nobody asked. Old Owyn just called him by whatever his Arena rank was, from Pit Dog right up until he was the Arena Grand Champion. The people who had given his name to him were far away, tending their herds in obscurity in Vvardenfell, and by this time had surely forgotten him. All he had of theirs was the accent he'd never been able to shake.

He'd never had to worry about what his friends should call him. He'd never really had any. Mostly people just used his rank, the same way Owyn did, or they said "Hey, you. The Dunmer."

He saw a lot of people in the Arena, of course, but generally they were trying to kill him. Nobody succeeded. He was a small mer, but he was quick, and no one in their right mind was as vicious as he was once he got going. Not even Orcs. He fought plenty of those, and won.

It was sadly ironic that the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had was the last Arena Champion. Agronak gro-Malog had been a cheerful and a polite Orc, and if you were willing to learn, he'd always got something to teach you. He would joke about seeing the moves again, but nobody really thought he'd be beaten. He was the Gray Prince. He'd been the Champion for fifteen years. In the Arena, fifteen years was almost forever.

That was before Agronak's mother died, of course. He was quieter for a while after that. Then he took the Dunmer aside and gave him a key and a story, and showed him the way to Crowhaven on a map. The Dunmer was willing to oblige. It was a break from the Arena. And, if he'd been willing to admit it, he was a little curious as to who Agronak's real father might be.

He survived that, just barely, but Agronak didn't. He handed over the journal and watched Agronak freeze as he read it, as if he'd just been hit in the stomach. The Orc went listlessly around the Bloodworks, silent and pale, for days after he read the journal. He taught the Dunmer things he'd never taught to anyone else, though his heart didn't seem to be in that, either.

The Dunmer learned from the Gray Prince, and gained quickly in rank. It was surprisingly little time before he had reached the rank above which there was only one other place – Agronak's. There were others in the Arena at that level. None of them would challenge the Gray Prince. They didn't want to die.

The Dunmer had nothing to lose, and he knew what the others didn't. _Vampire _was an ugly word, and this unfortunate trick of parentage made the others fear Agronak gro-Malog more than they might already have done. None of them quite seemed to see what it had done to Agronak himself. The Dunmer's ambition finally overcame his conscience. When he challenged Agronak at last, all the half-Orc said was, "Thank the Divines. When?"

It wasn't really a fight. It was murder. Agronak refused even to draw his ebony sword. The Dunmer had long envied that weapon. His own sword was plain steel, the only thing he could afford even at his present rank.

The Dunmer was not a kind mer, but neither was he particularly cruel. He also wasn't stupid. You didn't renege on an Arena fight. Once two people went out onto that sand, only one could walk out again. He ran the Gray Prince through the heart. It was quick. He probably scarcely even felt it. The last look he turned on the Dunmer was one of wrenching gratitude.

The Dunmer took to calling himself the Black Arrow, after that. He was richer than he'd ever been, and once he'd killed a couple of challengers to prove that he could, the living was pretty easy. He still didn't have any friends, but no friends and lots of money was better than no friends and no money.

At first, anyway.

He never seemed to sleep very well, for some reason. He tried to convince himself that he didn't know why. It didn't work, particularly when those surviving fighters who had known Agronak kept on reminding him. (One or two had challenged him. They lost.) Sleeping or waking, he kept seeing the dead half-Orc's face.

And then came the day when he heard that Agronak gro-Malog was not dead. Further inquiry produced the information that he had been seen somewhere out in the wilderness not so very far from Bravil.

It didn't matter that Agronak gro-Malog was apparently half-vampire. It didn't matter that the Arena Champion did not, technically speaking, have any business leaving the Arena. That very night the Black Arrow packed himself a knapsack, collected up all of his gold that he hadn't banked, and headed out on foot. He left the Arena Grand Champion armor behind him and went dressed in plain linen and leather.

He took the ebony sword with him, bound up in its scabbard. He'd never used it. It wasn't really his.


	2. Chapter 2

_Half-vampiric creatures are a badly overused theme in fan literature. In my defense, Agronak's parentage is actually the lore of the game rather than my own addition._

_I console myself with the thought that at least he's not just another pale ex-human whose name contains the syllable "blood" or "dark" or some reference to sharp things._

Chapter 2

No Claws was the closest she'd ever been to happy.

For the first time in her life, she had her own room. She'd grown up in an orphanage, and after that she'd spent a little time at the Arcane University, and both of those entailed sleeping in a large room full of other people. No Claws was a solitary Argonian by nature, and probably would have been even without the accident of birth for which she was named, and the lack of privacy had always chafed her.

There had been other privations, most notably the shortage of candles, which at the orphanage at least had made it hard to read. At the University she'd learned to cast light spells, but other mages tended not to appreciate those while they were trying to sleep.

Now she had one bed in a large room, as much light as she wanted, and no shortage of heat. It was just a pallet on a stone slab, and the room was a doorless and drafty chamber with walls of stone, but that didn't bother her. She'd set up braziers all around the walls, and with the ambient magicka at the level it currently was, it didn't take much to keep them going day and night. They cast an orange glow on the white blocks of stone, brightening the place considerably. Tables from other places in the Ayleid ruin lined the walls, littered with interesting objects she had found. There weren't very many books, but at least she had some.

And she didn't really need a door. She had Barsabas.

No Claws curled up more comfortably on the slab, pulling the wool blanket up over her shoulders. It smelled slightly like horse, but that didn't bother her especially. She needed it more than the horses did, especially now that she'd set up a brazier for them on the surface up above. The Dremora LoAmai had objected, but it was smokeless, and Agronak gro-Malog had set it up so that the ruined walls up top hid it from any distant eyes.

No Claws would rise early the next day to care for those horses herself. The Dremora refused to have anything to do with them, and _they _refused to have anything to do with Agronak. They would tolerate Barsabas, and sometimes she let him do the chore if she was busy, but she liked the animals. What she'd learned about horses was probably the only good thing that had come out of her very brief University education.

That, and Barsabas, of course. No Claws shifted position slightly so that she could see the doorway. The tall Imperial stood silhouetted there, his back to the room as he stared silently out into the hall of crypts. His black hair hung down his back, unstirred by any breeze. He didn't move a muscle. He didn't even breathe.

"Good night, Barsabas," No Claws said.

"Good night, No Claws," said the zombie.

---

Barsabas did not look over his shoulder. He didn't have to. No Claws would be curled up into as small a ball as possible under the blanket, a fold of it up over her tympana to keep them warm. She was little, for an Argonian at seventeen, and she would look even smaller on the big slab. It was the same every night. He probably shouldn't be able to realize that. In fact, he probably shouldn't even _know _that he shouldn't be able to realize it. But then, Barsabas wasn't like other zombies.

He was still dead, of course. Certainly that. If he was in a better state of preservation than most, it was entirely due to the care No Claws had taken in preparing his body for summoning. Barsabas appreciated that. He didn't mind particularly that she'd burnt it afterwards, to keep the other mages from performing the Rites of Arkay on him. He was solid enough now, and that was all that mattered.

For a long time he'd been largely trapped between planes, awaiting her summons. And when he did come, he was dependent on her use of magicka. The stuff of life and change sizzled through his dead flesh like lightning in a bottle, fuzzing up his limited capacity to think. He'd done what she told him, but he didn't usually understand much of what was happening around him. He didn't really mind that, either, as long as No Claws was happy. In his small, dark world, she was beacon and bellwether. He would die for her. He would kill for her. In fact, he had.

Then came the day, just a few short weeks ago, when she was hurt while he was away. He had paced desperately in the pit between realities, flinging himself at the walls of Nirn without effect. He was not simply aware of her pain. He felt it, even bodiless as he then was. It was that awareness that finally made him able to reach out and seize the magicka of this plane, and use it to bend and change the form he would take. Not in big ways – not in any way that would ever show – but enough that he could make his dead brain tick over as fast as it ever had while he lived.

Maybe faster. A living body tended to make its own contributions to human reasoning. He doubted whether Barsabas the living man would ever have been able to target No Claws from the pit. It had taken the cold and desperate clarity of an Undead to achieve the focus necessary, not only to find her from outside of Nirn, but to summon himself to where she was.

No Claws herself claimed that he no longer had to obey her, now that he had come without being called, but Barsabas dismissed that as nonsense. _Nonsense _was the word he used himself, but the feel of it in his mind was nearer to _heresy. _It made him vaguely uneasy even to think about it. He belonged to No Claws solely and permanently. That was the order of things.

A ghost drifted down the hallway toward him. It was a very old one, tattered into barely more than a skeletal face and a wisp of blue ectoplasm. Barsabas had destroyed all of them when they first entered the ruin, but somehow they had come back. After the second or third time he and Agronak gro-Malog had annihilated the ruin's original residents, they had stopped attacking. Mostly. That was why Barsabas stood guard here every night.

The ghost glided closer. Barsabas wasn't sure why they never seemed to travel through the walls, now that he was capable of considering it. Perhaps it was simply a rule of their occupancy. This particular one didn't seem hostile. It slid back and forth in front of him a couple of times, watching his eyes move to follow it. Most zombies didn't have visibly moving eyes, including the few which haunted the ruin, and the ghosts seemed fascinated by it.

Barsabas couldn't see all that well, in point of fact. Human eyes are one of the first things to decay after death, and even No Claws' preservation hadn't been able to save most of their delicate internal structure. The ghost was visually just a bluish blur. But the magicka it used made a crisply defined shape, warping the surrounding magicka in its environment, and he could see that very clearly even through walls. It was how he kept track of the ruin's other restless dead, in case some of them should change their mind about moving through stone. It was how he saw No Claws behind him, her small body the center of such massive disturbance that she might as well be a sun.

And then, of course, there was the _other_ reason for his standing guard here.

---

That other reason was presently outside the ruin, trying to stalk a deer through the early darkness of late winter.

Agronak gro-Malog was naturally better inclined to stealth than most Orcs. This was, if anything, more true since his death. He preferred not to think about that, because he preferred to think of himself as a half-Orc. _Rather than a half-vampire. _

Unfortunately, he couldn't disguise his scent, and animals seemed particularly bothered by it. Let the wind change for half a second, and…

The deer leaped up from the brown grass and bounded away. Agronak sighed and ran after it. He wasn't completely surprised when an arrow hit it in the side before it got three steps. It checked, stumbling. He pounced on the animal, pinning it with his weight, and tore into its throat with his teeth.

It wasn't so bad, if you didn't think about the taste. That was the trouble with feeding every day. Without the red haze of long thirst, he had to actually know what he was doing. Afterward he slid off the dead deer, spitting hairs. Footsteps approached, felt rather than heard. He turned to see a tall creature in daedric greaves and a worn leather coat approaching through the grass.

"Thanks for saving me the trouble," he said. Agronak stood up and held out his hand. The Dremora handed him a wine bottle full of water. He used it to rinse the blood from his hands and face, then washed out the inside of his mouth.

"I did no such thing," said LoAmai. The faint breeze rose again, stirring the ragged black hair around her stubby horns. "I have no plans to spend the entire evening watching you pursue animals. It is too cold."

"I don't really care for it myself," Agronak said. He brushed dust from the front of his leather tunic. It was cold outside, and steam rose from his mouth as he spoke. It was far less than LoAmai produced, but it was there. "But what else is there to do?"

"I could be making more arrows," LoAmai said. Agronak rolled his eyes as he turned back toward the distant hulk that marked the Ayleid ruin. It was quite dark, but he could still see it clearly.

"Good grief. You must have three hundred of them by now, and there is no quiver anywhere that can hold that many. Besides, I think it annoys the ghosts that you keep using their bones."

"Whether or not it annoys dead mortals is of no concern to me whatsoever," LoAmai said.

"I should've seen that one coming. Aren't you even thirsty?"

"No. I require less than do you, Orc of Nirn," LoAmai said.

"So I understand."

"Besides, the blood of creatures of this plane is distinctly lacking in taste."

"Is that so?" Agronak said. The two of them waded through the tall grass toward the jagged stone in the distance. It was very cloudy, and there was no moon. "I guess it makes logical sense that daedric blood would taste different."

"I am sure you will find out."

Agronak stopped. LoAmai looked at him with one raised eyebrow.

"No," he said. "I won't."

"It's inevitable," LoAmai said. "It is merely a matter of which of us is first."

"Don't _you _start with this now," Agronak said. "No Claws is bad enough. Besides, I'm half dead on my father's side, remember? My blood is probably useless to you."

"Living or dead makes a difference to the feeding habits of _your _kind, not mine," LoAmai said calmly.

"Wonderful," Agronak said. He frowned as they came closer to the ruin. "…Don't we have just the three horses?"

"Yes."

"Because that looks like a fourth one."

"In that case, I suggest we run."

Agronak was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Like others who write with the lore of Dremoras, in particular the wonderful Dremora City mod whose name I've forgotten, I've thrown out the idea that they can't die permanently in any way. This may be lore but it makes no sense population-dynamics-wise, and I've chosen to see them as more organic creatures. Thus, per the previous story, a Dremora is not immortal when present unsummoned in Nirn (though he or she still does not age).

Not that this chapter will mention that per se.

In keeping with my ironic naming of Barsabas, the name Ezri is Biblical and means "my help."

Chapter 3

No Claws was awakened by Barsabas' voice saying her name. She sat up blearily, half-tangled in the blanket, and saw him still in the doorway. He was outlined in the greenish light of the hall, crouched in a position of predatory readiness

"What is it?" she said.

"A mage," Barsabas said, and then he was enveloped in the blue envelope of a massive dispel charge. His body dissolved in a shower of gold sparks.

No Claws scrambled out of bed and reached for the knife on the nearest table. It wasn't much of a knife, a worn and rusty thing of plain steel that she'd found lying in a coffer. Barsabas had summoned himself at a far greater level than she had ever succeeded in doing. A mage who could cast that level of dispel...

"You must be very powerful," No Claws said. She held the knife down at her side, so that the sleeve of her plain brown robe fell down over it. She raised the other hand as she called up the only shield that she knew how to invoke. The blue shimmer sprang up around her. "Did the guild send you?"

"Yes," said a man's voice. He stepped through the doorway a moment later, silver longsword at the ready. He carried no staff. He was a Breton, probably somewhere between forty or fifty; No Claws sometimes couldn't tell with humans, even as long as she'd lived with them. He was small and thin, and his face was lined and haggard under his hood. He wore simple traveling clothes. They'd probably been black, once. Now they were a dull, dark grey.

He looked at No Claws, blinking in the warm light from the braziers.

"I didn't realize you would be so young," he said.

"You mean Traven did not tell you so," No Claws said. She didn't bother to hide her annoyance. Her tail switched. "I'm seventeen. My birthday was last week. But you're never too young to die, are you?"

"Nor too old," the mage said. He did not smile. From the way the lines lay at the corners of his mouth, he probably hadn't smiled in a long time. "I'm not Traven's assassin, girl. Nor is he my master. If you are not truly a necromancer, I will do you no harm. Are you a prisoner here?"

"I won't lie to you," she said. No Claws raised her left hand slowly, spreading her fingers so that he could see their smooth ends. "I'm a No Claws. It's the only name I've ever had. Do you know what that means, Breton?"

"The archivist told me," the battlemage said. "You were born clawless, under the sign of the Apprentice." He didn't sheathe his sword, but he made no move to attack. _Yet._

"I'm a dead-raiser," No Claws said, lowering her hand. "It's what I was born to do. I've never done harm to a living thing, and I would rather not start with you."

"I've fought many Servants of the Worm," the mage said. His voice was deep and hollow. "Many of them with years' practice in doing evils you have probably never imagined. I've slain Guardians of Oblivion and sent their creatures shrieking back to the void in great number. You have no chance, girl. I would rather not have the blood of a child on my hands, but the closing of the circles must be preserved in the name of Arkay and of all that is holy. Swear to me that you'll never raise another dead man, and I'll leave you."

No Claws shook her head. "I can't," she said simply.

"Then I regret that I must do this," the battlemage said. He raised the sword in front of his face. The blade began to glow a faint red.

"Tell me your name," No Claws said.

"I tell no one that," the battlemage said.

"I've told you mine," No Claws said. "And if I could do you any harm from beyond the grave by use of it, it would be only what you deserve."

"That is so," the mage said quietly. "What's one more voice in the dark, when I have so many? My name is Ezri Verrault."

No Claws shook her sleeve back from the knife. Even under the shimmer of her shield, it was pathetically ugly.

"You're no coward, I see," the mage said. "But then, some of them aren't. It's a sad truth that courage is no measure of goodness."

"Very true," No Claws said, and dug the point of the knife into the palm of her left hand. It was dull, so she had to press very hard to draw blood. She was glad Argonians couldn't sweat.

The mage paused, staring. "What are you doing?"

Then there was a yellow shimmer in the air, and Barsabas stepped out of the void and clubbed him in the head with his doubled fists. The mage staggered, trying to bring the sword around, but he'd been hit too hard. The zombie stood watching as he fell to his knees, then onto his side. The sword clattered on the stone floor.

Barsabas raised his foot.

"Stop," No Claws said. The zombie looked at her with reproach as he took a step back. His eyes were milky, completely filmed over. Up close, he smelled strongly of the alcohol she'd used to preserve him originally.

"He was trying to hurt you," Barsabas said.

"Yes, but I need his skull intact," No Claws said. She came forward, knelt by the mage, and drove the knife into his eye socket, just to make sure. He didn't twitch. He was already dead. "Go see what happened to Agronak gro-Malog. He wouldn't have let this man past him if he was here."

"Let who past me?" said a familiar baritone. No Claws looked up to see the half-Orc standing in the doorway. He was small, for an Orc, and very pale – they'd called him the Gray Prince for a reason. Agronak took a quick step into the room as he caught sight of the corpse. Barsabas made a noise that could be easily mistaken for a growl.

"Barsabas," No Claws said. "We talked about this. Where were you?" she asked Agronak.

"Getting dinner," Agronak said. He looked cautiously between the animate dead and the inanimate one. "LoAmai insisted on coming with me, and it's not like I could stop her. Who was that?"

"Mages' Guild," No Claws said. "I've heard some of the battlemages devote their time to hunting down necromancers. It seems he was one."

"Are you all right?" Agronak said. "You're bleeding."

"Hm? Oh, yes, it's nothing." No Claws wiped the small wound on the dead mage's cloak. She tried not to dwell on the fact that Agronak could not have seen the injury with her hand hidden by her sleeve. "He dispelled Barsabas, and pain lets him focus tightly enough to get back here on his own. I'm not sure why. I've got some lavender extract somewhere still..."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Barsabas go to the table and unerringly select the right bottle. He really was eerily bright lately.

"I don't suppose you had time to ask him how he found us," Agronak said.

"Oddly, no," No Claws said. "That didn't come up. You can always ask him later."

Agronak stepped forward and sank smoothly to his haunches beside the dead mage. He was graceful for an Orc, too. No Claws sometimes wondered if that was why Barsabas seemed so wary of him. Now he stayed carefully on the other side of the corpse from No Claws, giving her plenty of space. The pattern of his scars cast odd shadows on his face and neck in the firelight.

"Looks like he had a hard life," Agronak said. He prodded one shoulder with a stubby gray finger, causing the body to flop onto its back. The light from the braziers fell directly on the man's open eyes. They were deep-set, and gray. At least, the one that didn't have a knife slit in the middle of it was.

Barsabas knelt beside No Claws and reached for her wounded hand. She allowed him to pour a couple of drops of the healing extract onto the small injury. His touch was very cold.

"Where's the demon?" No Claws said.

"LoAmai is searching the rest of the ruin," Agronak said. He laid emphasis on the name. "There was only one horse, but you never know. Er. When you said I could ask him later...?"

"He's no good for a zombie," No Claws said. She looked down at the dead man, frowning slightly as she considered. She reached out with her right hand and brushed the pale hair from his forehead. It was streaked with gray. "Mages never are. Besides, I don't have what I need to preserve him, and I can't collect enough of the right herbs in the winter. He'd probably be quite a powerful ghost."

"Can you do that?" Agronak said.

"Probably," No Claws said. "I never tried. If it can be done at all, it should be easier than it was to raise Barsabas."

The zombie wiped her hand gently and took the bottle back to the table. He never turned his back to Agronak gro-Malog.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking whether you should," Agronak said.

No Claws looked up at him finally. "I am what I am," she said. "And so was he. Does he look to you like someone who is resting in peace?"

Agronak looked at the dead man's face. "No."

"If he's already gone on to Aetherius, I won't pull him back," No Claws said. "But what if he's tied to this plane somehow, stuck between the way Barsabas was? Is it really worse to bring him here than to leave him there? Is that a restful place, Barsabas?"

"No," Barsabas said. "It's dark. You can hear, but you can't see." He spoke without emotion, the way he always did on any topic relevant to himself. No Claws held out her hand, and he raised her to her feet.

"Just so," No Claws said. She patted Barsabas's arm reassuringly. "And he could help us. If he found us here, others will, too."

Agronak stood up slowly. "Can you control him?" he said.

Barsabas tipped his head to one side. "I wouldn't doubt that," he said. "If I were you. I would have torn your throat out the first time I saw you, if it had been up to me."

"So I gathered," Agronak said dryly. "On your head be it, then. I'm going to go and make sure he was alone."

"Good night," No Claws said.

"I've had better," said Agronak gro-Malog.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Agronak found LoAmai in the ruin's great antechamber, the one with the pit trap occupying most of the floor. It didn't look like a pit, of course. It looked like an ordinary section of floor with an inexplicable number of broken bones scattered over it. The Dremora stood at the edge where it was safe, eying the remains speculatively. The blue light from the welkynd stones in their recesses gleamed on her black hair. The red highlights of her greaves glowed softly. A couple of ghosts bobbed warily in the corners of the room.

"Looks like it was just the one mage," Agronak said. His voice echoed strangely in the cavernous room. "At least, I can't find anyone else."

"Nor have I," LoAmai said. "This mage is dead?"

"Extremely," Agronak said. "He didn't reckon on the dead man being able to summon himself again. Looks like he came from the Mages' Guild. No Claws is going to try to make a ghost of him."

"Like these?" LoAmai said. She looked at the two wispy specters. They edged further away.

"No, these are Ayleid, I think," Agronak said. "They've been around so long there's hardly anything left of them. Ghosts aren't all the same."

"This business of mortal death is peculiar," LoAmai said.

"What, Dremora don't leave ghosts?" Agronak said.

"No."

"Huh," Agronak said. "I'm going back up and look around again outside."

"I will go with you," LoAmai said at once. Agronak shot her a look. She held her steel bow in one hand, pulling idly at the string with the other.

"You've been following me everywhere for weeks," he said. "Every since you shot me. And I know it's not guilt, because I question whether guilt is something you're even capable of. So what, exactly, is bothering you?"

"The dead man," LoAmai said. "He claims he is yet owned by the Argonian's will. I do not believe him."

"I'm not totally sure I do, either," Agronak said. He turned toward the stairway that led up to the surface. Behind him, LoAmai made very little sound in her heavy boots. "But I do think he cares what No Claws thinks, and she seems to want to keep me around. At least for now."

"Why?" LoAmai said.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"I doubt it," said the Dremora. "I doubt also the wisdom of permitting the little _krynvelhat_ to obtain more revenants for her own use. I do not particularly care to be outnumbered."

"We're always outnumbered," Agronak said. "Probably always will be. I don't think No Claws means us any harm." He stopped at the top of the stairs. The heavy stone door swung slowly open on its own, and he went out into the dark.

---

The Black Arrow rode into Bravil two days after he left the Arena. He sold the horse to the livery stable outside of town and bought a fresh one. Then he tied it up outside the first inn he saw and went inside for a drink.

The innkeeper was a stout Orc with bloodshot eyes who introduced himself as Bogrum gro-Galash. His tusks were short and yellow. He looked the Dunmer over thoughtfully as he served his ale. The room was small and close, and it stank, but no worse than some of the places the Arrow had frequented in the Imperial City. A skinny Khajiiti woman at a table and an armored Argonian at the bar seemed to be the only other patrons. Both ignored him.

"So whatcha looking for?" Bogrum said eventually.

"Dunno what you mean," said the Black Arrow.

"You're in Bravil, friend," the Orc said. He reached for an empty glass and wiped it with a rag. "Folk don't come here to sightsee. Not too many Darkish mer round here, either."

"That a problem? 'Cause I can always sleep somewhere else," the Arrow said.

"Money's got no race, friend," said Bogrum. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "You here about the bounty?"

"What bounty's that?" the Arrow said.

Bogrum raised his eyebrows. "Guess you really did just ride in. Half the city guard rode out after him a few weeks ago, but they never found anything. The Captain of the Guard's offering a thousand gold on him. Nobody's been dumb enough to try and collect it yet."

The Black Arrow set down his ale. "I look like an idiot to you?" he said.

"Whoa, whoa," the innkeeper said, raising both hands. They were light green, and leathery. "Nothing like that. You do look like somebody hasn't got much to lose, though. And you might be crazy, if you're going looking for Agronak gro-Malog."

"So he _has _been seen here," the Black Arrow said. "Where?"

"Not _here _here," said Bogrum. "Some Legionnaire wrote a letter to Viera Lerus saying he'd run into the Gray Prince, in company with a Dremora and an Argonian, and they were headed this way. Lerus isn't Captain here any more, since she got stove up so bad at the Big Gate back when, but the new Captain took out of here like an Argonian with his tail on fire. No offense, Jee-Tah."

"None taken, fat one," said the Argonian at the bar. He hoisted his mug good-naturedly and stuck his scaly muzzle back into the ale.

"And they never found anything?" said the Dunmer.

"Nope. I heard one of the guards say the Gray Prince took off dragging a litter, since the Dremora had a broken leg, but all they found was the litter. Not much trail from there on out. Either the thing went back to Oblivion, or they healed it up somehow. Nobody knows."

The Black Arrow inquired at several other places of business over the next few days, but no one had any more information. He even managed to bribe a couple of city guards who had gone on the expedition. They were no more helpful than anyone else. The end of the week found him frustrated, somewhat poorer, and desperately tired. He was in a foul mood on the evening of Fredas, when the Altmeri mage walked into the Lonely Suitor Lodge.

He was hard to miss, dressed in blue velvet with his hair in a tall peak. He must have known it, because he didn't make any pretense of casualness. He went straight to the Black Arrow and said, "You, the Dunmer."

"What?"

"You're the one who's been asking how to find Agronak gro-Malog, right?"

The Arrow turned around, leaning his elbows on the bar as he glared at the Altmer. "Who're you, and why'd you wanna know?"

"My name is Carandial," the Altmer said. "I work for the Mages' Guild here in Bravil. I might be able to help you."

"Just outta the goodness of your heart?" said the Black Arrow. He didn't think much of Altmeri. The feeling seemed to be mutual most of the time. Carandial looked down his long nose.

"As it happens, a guildmate of mine was last seen out to the west of here," he said. "He said he had used the diviner's art to track a necromancer to the ruin of Gedwendyll. He has not been heard from."

"So he got eaten by a zombie," said the Black Arrow. "Not my problem. Go away."

"It's entirely possible that this vampire Orc is in Gedwendyll," Carandial informed him. "It would be an ideal daylight resting place for such a creature, and its, ahem, natural occupants are so few as to pose little threat to an experienced warrior."

"The Gray Prince's got no problem going out in the sun," the Black Arrow said. "Seen him do it lots of times."

"We're willing to make it worth your while," Carandial said, very reluctantly. "We need to know what happened to Verrault."

The Black Arrow considered. He certainly didn't seem to be getting anywhere on his own. What was he going to lose? His life? Ha. His time? Well, _that _wasn't worth anything, either. "What's this Verrault look like?" he said.

"He is a Breton," Carandial said. "About what I assume to be your own height, if you were standing up straight. He will be wearing plain black clothing and carrying an enchanted silver sword. That is the most I can tell you."

"He as snotty as you?" said the Black Arrow.

Carandial pursed his lips, apparently cutting off his own retort. "If you return with accurate news of his whereabouts, we'll pay you five hundred septims. Take it or leave it," he bit off, and turned and left.

The Black Arrow rubbed his crooked nose, considering. He probably shouldn't stay much longer in Bravil, one way or another. Sooner or later, old Owyn was going to figure out where he'd gone and send somebody after him. He was worth too much money in admission and bets to just let loose.

More than Agronak had been, in fact. People were willing to bet a lot more money on a challenger they thought could actually kill the Champion, and nobody thought much of the Arrow's chances of making it through the year.

It didn't matter. He wasn't going back.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The next part of the business was grisly, but that didn't bother No Claws.

She stripped the dead mage of any useful effects, including the enchanted sword and a few amulets and rings, and had Barsabas carry him outside. Then she bundled herself up warmly and went after them. After that it was a matter of detaching the corpse's head, burning the body, and turning the severed object on the end of a sword until it was burnt to a skull. That was tricky, because the fire was searingly hot as only magicka-fueled fires can be, but finally it was done. She dropped the skull on the frozen ground and tossed the sword, now very warm as well, down beside it. The blade glowed faintly in the dark.

After a while she poked the skull with a toe. It didn't burn through her shoe, so she picked it up. "Barsabas," she said.

"Yes, No Claws," he said.

"A real necromancer would do some kind of rite," she said. "But I was never taught any. I'll have to do what I did with you."

It was a measure of his present level of intelligence that he understood immediately. His white face might be made of stone. "No," he said.

"It'll be easy, as cold as it is out here," No Claws said. "I won't have to spellfreeze myself into the dark this time. And if you think I'm getting too cold, you can carry me back to the fire. It's plenty safer than it was with you."

"No," Barsabas said again.

"Barsabas," No Claws said quietly. "Will you stop me?"

The dead man's brows knit in something akin to pain. "You know I can't," he said.

"Then watch," No Claws said. "I'm trusting you to keep me safe while I'm there." She turned and walked away from the fire and the horses, out into the cold and the dark. Barsabas followed at her heels.

"I won't trade you for this ghost," he said. "You know that."

"I know it," No Claws said. "Now shhh. I have to concentrate." She sat down in the dead grass, held the skull in both hands, and waited. After a minute had passed, her toes and the end of her tail were numb. After two minutes, she fell over.

She did not land in the grass. No Claws hovered in the darkness, listening. She could feel her real self, frozen into torpor in the grass, but she also felt herself standing barefoot on something cold and hard. She still held the skull in her hands. Everything was completely black, not the penetrable dark of a night without stars, but the utter abyssal black of the pit.

Someone laughed off in the distance. Her two dead sisters were still here, it seemed, pursuing their blind game of tag through her parents' house. They were nearer to the plane of Nirn than she now was. Geography didn't really matter here, no more than did time.

"Ezri Verrault," No Claws said. Her voice was different here, echoing with the power that hid itself when she was in Nirn. Someone was walking nearby, someone wearing soft leather shoes. They scuffled on the hard floor of the abyss. If she listened closely, she could tell they were pacing back and forth.

"Ezri," No Claws said. "I know you're here. You can't travel far from what's left of your body, can you? You belong here."

"What have you done?" said a voice. It was almost recognizable as Breton, but no voice sounded quite right here. "What trick have you played me, necromancer?"

"No trick," No Claws said. "If you were ready for the next world, you would be there now. Were you really ready to move on to Aetherius and the blessed Divines?"

"No," said Ezri's voice. The footsteps came nearer. "Not after what I've seen. I have been too long a doubter. I never earned that rest."

"Then follow me," No Claws said.

"Follow _you?" _Ezri Verrault laughed harshly. "You're a child, toying with powers of which you have no comprehension. I could kill you now, here, and your body would die. Your zombie wouldn't be able to save you, then. I'm already damned. Perhaps I will do it."

No Claws heard the footsteps quicken, and then cold hands reached out to seize her. They jerked back at once, and Ezri made a pained noise.

"I'm not very educated," No Claws said. "And I'm not very old. I probably won't live to be, all things considered. But I have every comprehension of what I am. I always have."

"You burn at the touch," Ezri said. "In this place of absolute cold, you burn."

"I can give you power," No Claws said. "Vision. And I can give you a reason. You need one, or you wouldn't be here."

"You mean you would make me your creature," Ezri said. "The same as the thing that killed me."

"Not exactly the same," No Claws said. "You'll come into the world knowing what you are and what's happening. Whether that's better or worse, I can't say. I will destroy this skull I'm holding. You'll be bound to me until I die. No one can say the Rites of Arkay over you."

There was a long silence. No Claws felt her body growing number, further away from her.

"All my life I obeyed without question," said Ezri Verrault at last. "I deserve no better."

"Then you are from this moment bound to come to me when I summon you," No Claws said. "Arkay will refuse what belongs to me."

She crushed the skull between her ethereal hands. It crumbled into dust, and then there was a sensation of rapid rising and she felt heat on her face. No Claws blinked her eyes open. The skull was gone, and she was in Barsabas's arms as he stood near the fire. He had evidently been there a couple of minutes. His body was already warm from the heat.

"No Claws?" he said.

"I'm here," she said.

"We're going to find some books, right?" he said. "So you never have to do that again?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Please," Barsabas said. His voice was very flat. No Claws laid her head against his chest. No heart beat behind the black linen.

"We'll try," she said. "But you have to put me down. I might need your help if the first summon goes wrong."

Barsabas set her down beside the brazier. She stood on her feet, a little shaky but upright. She raised one hand, calling up all the mana she had been saving. When the power boiled at the end of her fingertips so that she thought it would burn her up, she said, _"Ezri."_

A spiral of light shot from the ends of her fingers, coiled in on itself, and became the form of a man. Ezri Verrault wore what he had worn when he died, down to the sword and the amulets No Claws had taken from his body. He was visible from head to toe, not a tattered thing like the Ayleid ghosts, but his body was pale and transparent. No Claws could look through him to the fire in the brazier. It lit his eyes from behind like the flame of Oblivion.

"You called me," he said. "I have come."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Agronak gro-Malog, meanwhile, was making another long circuit of the ruin's exterior. The first time he'd done this, many weeks ago, he'd found bones of men and goblins. The remains were mostly gone now, collected by LoAmai in her endless making of arrows, but one or two smaller bits remained. They crunched like potsherds underfoot if he stepped on them, and he had to keep his eyes mostly on the ground. Naturally quiet he might be, but his native knowledge of woodcraft was nil. He'd spent his whole life in cities, and a good half of it in the Arena. There wasn't much point in stealth there.

LoAmai stalked along behind him, entirely quiet. Agronak supposed that was really no surprise. She was much older than he was, and she'd made it to the rank of something similar to sergeant in an army of immortals. How many sneak attacks was that, Agronak wondered? He hadn't met many living men who could move in heavy boots without clanking.

Agronak leaped lightly to the top of a chunk of stone and looked around, staying low to avoid being silhouetted against the sky. There wasn't much light, but you never knew when somebody with unusually good night vision might turn up.

In fact, he was almost hoping someone _would _turn up. He was irritated that the one person they'd seen in almost two months had appeared while he was away. When he'd first met the other two they had places to go, and problems to solve. It had been a question whether he'd survive to see any given sunrise. It had never been boring. And now he was bored.

"I'm bored," he said.

"How very curious," LoAmai said. "It has been some time and yet you still continue to use words unfamiliar to me."

"You don't know what _bored _means?" Agronak said.

"I have never heard it," LoAmai said.

"I guess given that your experience with Cyrodilic comes from talking to Imperials who've gone to Hell, you probably wouldn't have." Stealth was pointless now, so Agronak didn't bother to try and muffle the impact as he hopped off the stone. He could absorb the impact just fine, but it made a fairly impressive _thud _when his feet hit the ground from fifteen feet up.

LoAmai didn't flinch when he landed right next to her. She didn't even reach for a weapon, which was more surprising. Standing flat on the ground, they were almost the same height. From twelve inches away he felt her radiating heat like a small fire.

"_Bored _is what happens when no one is trying to kill you and nothing else is happening," Agronak said. He edged away, slightly uncomfortable and not sure why. "No Claws is happy as a clam, but she's a reader. I'm not all that interested in the diaries of whoever's been stupid enough to voluntarily sit down and write one inside a ruin full of restless dead. We've been over every inch of this place and there is nothing left to see. I'm bored."

"Foolish," LoAmai said. Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark, crimson webbed with black. "There is always someone who wishes you dead. It is merely a matter of time until you encounter the next one."

"Divines. You'd think I was talking to a Dremora or something."

"Idiot Orc."

"It's a point, though," Agronak said, ignoring the last remark. He paced off among the giant debris with the demon at his heels. "The Legion hasn't found us yet, but they probably will. Especially if the Mages' Guild knows where we are. It just seems so odd that they'd send only one man."

"He expected to encounter a single Argonian of no particular abilities," LoAmai said. "It is not so very surprising. Among the Kyn such power is long in the making."

"It's not very usual here, either," Agronak said. "But she said they knew about her birth sign and that." He considered that as he looped back toward the ruin's front door. "Of course, they also know how little time she spent at the University. Maybe they were banking on her ignorance. I wonder if she's got that ghost back yet."

He rounded the corner of a block of stone and came within sight of the brazier. The four horses stood nearby, flicking their tails placidly. They didn't seem at all bothered by the transparent Breton who stood in front of the brazier.

"So you did it," Agronak said. The zombie and the ghost turned to look at him. The Breton didn't quite manage the chill speculation Agronak had begun to expect from Barsabas. He looked tired and angry, a slightly more animate version of the expression his corpse had worn. No Claws kept watching the new ghost.

"If you wanted to ask him questions, now's the time," she said. "He'll only last a few more minutes. I didn't bring a welkynd stone up with me."

"Who are you?" Agronak said.

"I am Ezri Verrault of the Mages' Guild," said the ghost. "I was a battlemage in their employ for more years than you have lived, Orc."

"Half-Orc," Agronak said. "Why did you come here?"

"Seeking a necromancer," said Verrault. He looked ironically at No Claws. "It seems my information was incomplete."

"Isn't that always the way," Agronak said. "Who knows you're here?"

"There are several at the guild in Bravil who know," Verrault said. "I am not liked, but I believe Kud-Ei would send someone to seek me on general principle."

Agronak looked at the small Argonian. She'd taken time to replace the black ribbons on her several small horns, but her gray scales were dull in the firelight. "He can't withhold anything from me," she said. "And he can't lie."

"How do you know?"

"Because I told him not to," she said, shooting Agronak an impatient glance over her shoulder. Her eyes were very green, the slit pupil expanded to a wide band of black. "I don't think it's in his nature anyway."

"Of that, at least, you may acquit me," said Ezri Verrault. "I have killed. I was not a thief nor a liar."

"I understand," Agronak said. The ghost looked at him more closely, head on one side. The fire shone through him, making his expression harder to read. He turned his head to look at No Claws again.

"Dares your thrall inquire who that is? And why he is followed by a demon?"

"That's Agronak gro-Malog," No Claws said.

"Agronak gro-Malog was killed in the Arena," said Ezri Verrault.

"Full marks for observation," Agronak said. "I said I was only half-Orc."

"I seem to recall something of the kind. Is the Dremora also your summoned?" Ezri said to No Claws.

"I was left when the gates closed," LoAmai said. "I am the last kynval of the Citadel of Natural Disaster."

"Just as well. The zombie is bad enough. Your magicka is run out, girl. You will of course find me waiting at your next call." The ghost bowed ironically, then vanished.

Agronak looked at the place he had been for a long moment.

"I think you'd better be very careful of that ghost," he said at last. "He doesn't seem quite as thrilled with the idea of being Undead as Barsabas is."

"Barsabas called me before I called him," No Claws said. She swayed, reached out to steady herself on Barsabas' black-clad arm. "Ezri came here to kill me. Very… different… circumstances…"

"Are you all right?" Agronak said.

No Claws muttered something that sounded like _tired_. Barsabas looked down at her critically, then picked her up as if she'd been a feather. Agronak, who had had to carry her at least once before, knew that wasn't far from the truth.

"How long since you've slept?" Agronak said.

"Almost two days," Barsabas said, when No Claws didn't seem about to answer. "The mage woke her up before she'd gone an hour tonight." He shot Agronak a look. "Which wouldn't have happened, if you'd been where you were supposed to be. She also hasn't eaten in almost that long."

It was a long speech for the dead man, even given his recent improvement in circumstances.

"Barsabas," No Claws protested.

"That's partly your fault, you know," Agronak said. "I don't have to… Feed… every day, but let me once start looking peaky and the two of you get nervous as cats."

"I don't get nervous," Barsabas said.

"Yes, you do," LoAmai said calmly. She returned the dead man's cold stare with apparent indifference. Neither of them seemed likely to blink.

"I know you do, because No Claws does," Agronak said. "I've got enough frozen deer stashed around here to keep an army going for a week, if she's tired of the dried stuff. Want me to bring you a haunch or so?"

Barsabas broke the stalemate by looking at Agronak again. "Yes." Then, in response to No Claws poking him weakly in the chest, "Please."

"It's not usually like her to be that careless," Agronak said. "What exactly did summoning this ghost entail?"

"She froze herself torpid," Barsabas said. "She went into the dark after him."

"And you _let _her? Bleeding Akatosh!" Agronak said. "You just about rip my throat out if I _look _at her sideways. And you let her _deliberately_ freeze herself half to death? Did you ever think about what'd happen to you if she didn't make it back?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was lumpy, having been broken any number of times. "I don't know why I thought a dead man would think more clearly than the rest of us. You're as crazy as she is."

Barsabas' face was not admirably expressive, but the set of his shoulders was embarrassed. Agronak shook his head and walked away. "I'll get the deer."

---

Barsabas turned to carry No Claws inside. They were both familiar with Agronak's hearing, so he wasn't surprised that No Claws waited until the door was fully shut behind them before she said, "'S Agronak for you."

"I don't understand," Barsabas said. He navigated the steps with ease, even carrying the small Argonian.

"Problem isn't that he doesn't care," she said, the sound mostly muffled by the fact that her muzzle was tucked down against Barsabas' shirt front. "'S still a vampire. Not in control of what he does…"

This caused an internal struggle for Barsabas. It was the same thing that always happened when circumstances forced him to disagree with her on something not directly concerned with her personal safety. It had never been a problem before he learned to summon himself. Before, he'd always just acted on the assumption that No Claws was right about everything. He'd never had this traitorous tendency to remind himself that she was roughly half his age and her experience of the world at large and people in general was fairly limited.

"Wha?" No Claws said.

"I didn't say anything," Barsabas said.

"…Were going to…" she said.

"No, I wasn't," Barsabas said.

No Claws rolled a slitted green eye in his direction. It gleamed in the dim blue light as he crossed the main hall, skirting the pit. "Speak."

Barsabas gave in to the direct command with some measure of relief. "Nobody I ever knew is more in control than Agronak gro-Malog," Barsabas said. He hesitated.

"Speak."

"I've seen him in the Arena," Barsabas said. "The day he killed me I beat him so badly you wouldn't know him. He never went berserk. He never got angry. He just hung on until I was tired enough to make a misstep. You've seen the mark he made. I still have it."

"Nave to chops," No Claws said. "Lots of stitching…"

"Yes. This is what worries me, No Claws." He took the left corridor off the main hall, then turned right into No Claws' room. He laid her carefully on the slab and tugged the blanket up over her shoulders.

"It won't happen again," No Claws said weakly.

"Neither one of us is the same as we were," Barsabas said. "There's no knowing."

"I won't let it," No Claws said.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I've changed the Dunmer's accent a little from _Luckless, _if only because over frequent use of the phonetic 'yer' is annoying._

Chapter 7

The day after he spoke with Carandial, the Black Arrow rode out for Gedwendyll.

The month of Morning Star had only just begun, and winter was far from over. The road out of Bravil was surrounded by trees denuded of foliage, one or two leaves hanging dispiritedly here and there. The Black Arrow paid more attention to the large rocks, since they were more likely to provide cover to anyone trying to ambush him. The environs of Bravil were known to have more than their share of lurking bandits.

The Dunmer slumped in the saddle, keeping his cloak pulled around him for warmth as he rode. He had ridden more in the last week than in his entire life previously. He was remembering what he'd forgotten, and the soreness was passing off, but he was still of half a mind to get off and walk by the time they broke through the trees and out onto the open plain.

Wavy brown grass stretched all the way out to the horizon. The Black Arrow shuddered slightly, but he urged the horse grimly forward. He was a town mer at heart. He didn't much care for wide open spaces. It was this that had first predisposed him in a direction away from herding guars, though that had been a long time ago.

The world hadn't any business being so flat, the Dunmer groused silently. Even the big floor of the Arena had walls. He felt the sky might fall on his head. It didn't seem to bother the horse. _Stupid horse._

Gedwendyll was less than a day's ride out of Bravil, by Carandial's account. It took the Dunmer two days, because he stopped for the night at the first covered thing he came to rather than ride on into the dark with nothing over his head. He tied the horse loosely to one of the posts of the Wayshrine of Julianos and slept curled up on his unrolled pallet against the cold bulk of the stone. It wasn't so much harder than the Arena's floor. An Arena Champion might have money, but mostly you didn't have time to spend it. And if you wanted to stay Champion – and, congruent to that aim, stay alive – you had to train so much that there wasn't much point in leaving the Bloodworks.

The Dunmer had understood that long before he went to Crowhaven, of course. The Arena wasn't for people with lives of their own to live. It didn't work that way.

He woke up sore the next day, swore at the horse, and got his fingers bitten while he was saddling the beast. "Next time I'm walking," he said. The horse snorted, but it let him mount up. The chestnut had been owned by a lot of adventurers. Generally they were obliging enough to get themselves killed within a few dozen miles of Bravil. It always found its way home.

The Black Arrow didn't know that, of course. All he knew was that he was almost to the end of his journey, and probably his life as well.

---

Agronak sat on a stone slab, whittling at a thigh bone. LoAmai had chosen this crypt for her arrowmaking because of its flat surfaces and storage niches, although Agronak suspected the original inhabitants would have been less than thrilled with her use of them. The ceiling was high and distant, and the room had a tendency to echo. He was trying to learn arrowmaking from LoAmai with indifferent success. She wasn't much of a teacher.

"How's that for a shaft?" he said, holding up the result of an hour's work.

"Not narrow enough," said LoAmai, without looking up from her own project. She was fletching her own arrows with feathers from a bird she'd shot a few days previously. Agronak sighed and prepared to resume whittling.

There was a distant wail. He paused, silver dagger in hand. "Hear that?"

"Yes," LoAmai said. She set aside the fletching unhurriedly. "It was one of the Ayleids."

"Probably just after Barsabas again," Agronak said.

"Probably," LoAmai said.

"I think I'll go and check, just in case," Agronak said. He dropped the embryo shaft and bounced easily to his feet. LoAmai rose beside him, tucking a new arrow into her quiver. Agronak jogged down the crypt, brushing aside a dangling mace from a trap long since tripped by Barsabas. It was only a short trip down the hall to the main hallway with the pit trap.

The floor section with the bones had dropped out of sight, although Agronak could hear them rattling somewhere down below. He also heard someone swearing. The gravelly voice seemed vaguely familiar. As he came closer, he saw the single gray hand clinging to one edge of the pit. The fingers were slipping on the smooth stone. Agronak jerked his head toward the front entrance. LoAmai nodded shortly. She circumnavigated the hole and went up the stairs.

Agronak went to look into the pit.

---

The Black Arrow swore again. He'd never been inside an Ayleid ruin before. He knew to expect ghosts and ghoulies, but disappearing floors were a new one. Even his own quick reflexes had barely saved him, and now he was losing his grip. The floor down below showed no signs of incipient rising. He'd probably survive the fall. The spikes were more of a problem.

Like most mer, the Black Arrow had slightly better hearing than a human. The pit trap made a deep grinding noise below him, probably ancient machinery at work. Still, it was surprising that he didn't hear any footsteps at all before a pale face appeared right above his head.

Just like that, he was looking into the eyes of the Orc he'd killed months earlier. It was really no surprise that he let go.

A wiry arm shot out and seized his wrist before he'd dropped a foot. The Dunmer waited for his heart to start beating again before he said, "Wondered if I'd find you here."

Agronak gro-Malog stared down at him, his face unreadable. Then he hauled the Black Arrow up one-handed and deposited him on the stone floor. The Dunmer closed his eyes and shook himself. When he opened them, the Orc was yards away, looking down at him. The Black Arrow got slowly to his feet.

"It really is you," he said. "You know, I never really believed it 'til now? You're lighter gray. And your eyes're funny. But you're still you."

Agronak just stared. His eyes were very pale blue, not a usual color for Orcs.

"Brought your sword," the Black Arrow said. He slowly untied the bound weapon from his back, then tossed it. Agronak caught it without looking away from him. He had a weapon belted at his waist, but it looked to be plain silver. Agronak hefted the ebony scabbard in one hand. The silence stretched on.

"Say something, gods damn you," said the Black Arrow.

"Why are you here?" Agronak said finally. His voice had not changed one whit.

The Dunmer shrugged one shoulder. "I heard you weren't dead," he said. "I had to know."

And, just like that, Agronak was in front of him, so close the Dunmer could see his sharp canines when he spoke. If the Dunmer had been a little taller, they would have been nose to nose.

"I am dead," Agronak said. "You killed me, remember?" He looked down, brows knitting. He still spoke very precisely. It was funny the things you remembered, thought the Black Arrow. Another Orc might have picked him up by his neck, but that was Agronak gro-Malog for you. "Your ugly elvish face was the last thing I saw. Are you here to try again? Because I'm not standing still for you this time."

"Easy," the Dunmer said quietly. "You want a fight, I'll give you one. You want a kill, I'll give you one. You want to hit somebody standing still? Be my guest. It's your turn, fair and square."

"But you're all mer, you little weasel," Agronak said. "You won't get up again."

"I know," said the Black Arrow.

Agronak looked down at him for a long moment.

"You're breathing," the Black Arrow said. "Didn't expect that."

"Nerve," Agronak said. He shook his head slowly. "I never could fault your nerve." His eyes flickered to something over the Dunmer's shoulder. "And LoAmai, what are you doing there, exactly?"

"Watching," said a voice. It was not a human voice. And it _definitely_ wasn't an elvish one. The Black Arrow was not an educated mer, but he wasn't stupid, either. Even if he hadn't recognized that tinny echo by the way it made the hairs stand up on his neck, he'd had one or two Dremora summoned on him in the ring. So he knew, when he turned slowly to look, what he was probably going to see.

It was sort of a surprise to see a Dremora wearing a leather traveling coat, though.

"Without, I observe, drawing any weapons," Agronak said.

"If you cannot deal with one small mortal on your own, you deserve to die," the Dremora said. It stood with folded arms, weight over one bony hip. "And if you are that angry with this creature, I would not dream of cheating you of your kill."

"That's a demon," the Dunmer said. Beside him, Agronak rolled his eyes.

"You came here thinking I was going to kill you. What do you care?"

"I would guess that being sacrificed to a daedra did not form part of his plans," LoAmai said.

"I'm not going to do that, either," Agronak said, before the Dunmer could do more than open his mouth. "That's what she considers a joke."

"She?" said the Black Arrow.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"How did you get here?" Agronak said. He carefully began to unbind the ebony sword. From the corner of his eye, the Black Arrow saw the Dremora draw an arrow from her quiver. She held it down at her side, but the threat was unmistakable.

"Rode a horse," said the Black Arrow. "I came alone."

"I never doubted it," Agronak said. "Like I said. Nerve. Who told you where to find me?"

"Mages' Guild," said the Dunmer. "This Altmer said they'd lost a man out this way. An Imperial named Verrault."

"They knew he came to this ruin?" Agronak said.

"Yep," said the Dunmer. "Gedwendyll. Said he was looking for a necromancer."

Agronak traded an unreadable look with the Dremora as he unbuckled his belt and swapped out the swords. "He found one. And we can't leave. No Claws won't survive much of a trip in this weather. Especially considering she's barely been out of bed for almost two days."

"That's the Argonian?" the Dunmer said. "The city guards said you were with one. Said there was a Dremora, too. Just didn't believe it. I never figured you for a traitor."

"I never did, either," Agronak said. He sighed. "She was alone and she was wounded. I suppose you would've left her there to die, hm?"

The Dunmer shrugged.

"Un huh," Agronak said. "You've seen what you came to see, right? Go back and tell the guild that Ezri Verrault is dead and collect whatever fee they told you they'd pay. Go back to the Arena and be the Champion. I'm sure everyone's wondering where you went."

"You're not gonna kill me?" said the Black Arrow.

"I've missed this sword," Agronak said, touching the pommel of the weapon now belted to his hip. "And the Arena will get you sooner or later."

"It wasn't the Arena that got you," said the Dunmer.

"That's true," Agronak said. "It wasn't even you. You were just at the right place at the right time. That's why I didn't let you drop when I first saw you."

"No," said the Black Arrow. He shook his head slowly. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shape loom up in one of the side passages, a smaller shadow beside it. His sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps. "You did that for the same reason you didn't let _her _drop." He jerked his head at the Dremora. "Not 'cause it made sense. 'Cause you're you. I'll bet the Argonian's some kind of charity case too, right? What'd you rescue her from?"

"Necromancers," said a voice. The Dunmer wasn't entirely surprised to see the little Argonian step out of the dark doorway. He was a little surprised to see the pale Imperial, though.

"That's funny," the Dunmer said. "Since you're supposed to be one."

"It wasn't funny at the time," said the Argonian. She had the kind of voice high sopranos use when they want to be taken seriously, middle-range but slightly strained. "Who are you?"

"No Claws, this is the present Arena Grand Champion," said Agronak gro-Malog. "I don't know his name, but last I heard he was calling himself the Black Arrow. This is No Claws. The zombie is Barsabas."

The Argonian came forward, skirting the pit on the wider margin at the North side of the room. The zombie followed her closely, seemingly looking at nothing else. "So when you say he's the Grand Champion," No Claws said. "Does that mean he's the same mer who - "

"That's right," Agronak said.

"Does he know you let him win?" No Claws said. Agronak covered his eyes with one hand. It might have seemed a careless thing to do, except that the Dremora was still toying with the arrow.

"No Claws, try to moderate your natural tact just a little, all right?" Agronak said.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" the Argonian said to the Dunmer. "Because you're not the real Grand Champion as long as Agronak is still alive, right?" She folded her skinny arms. The robe she wore hung loose, as if it had been made for someone much larger. The Dunmer would have smiled, if the zombie hadn't suddenly turned his head and looked at him. The sudden focus in the pale face was startling. The Dunmer had fought summoned zombies, too. None of them looked like that.

"Easy, girl," he said, raising his hands. "I'm not after doing any harm to Agronak gro-Malog. Doubtful if I could, even if he were alone."

"You were quick," Agronak said. "Maybe quicker than I was. You had as good a chance as Barsabas here did."

"He's _that _Barsabas, hm?" said the Dunmer. "Didn't recognize him. I saw that match. It was close."

"Not close enough," said Barsabas.

The Dunmer stared. "He can talk?"

"Look," Agronak gro-Malog said. "It doesn't matter. You've found me. I'm alive, more or less. I have no desire whatsoever to go back to the Imperial City and challenge you for the Grand Champion title, even if the Legion and the Mages' Guild weren't after us. Which they are. Go home."

"That's not why I came," the Dunmer said.

"Then why _did_ you come?" Agronak said.

"I've killed lots of men," the Dunmer said. "Lots of mer. I never murdered anyone except you. Don't sleep too good, nights. Not for a while."

The Dremora's sudden laugh startled him, jangling his already ragged nerves.

"Such a contagion," she said. "Guilt and debt, debt and guilt. Everyone you touch is infected with one or the other. I begin to suspect your talents are wasted entirely in this plane, Orc of Nirn."

"Wonderful. Thanks." Agronak shot the Dremora a look. She grinned back. Her teeth were jagged. Agronak turned to the Dunmer again. "For what it's worth to you, it wasn't you committing murder as much as it was me committing suicide. Anybody's sword would have done. You were just the first challenger."

"Sometimes I think I shouldn't've given you the book," the Dunmer said.

"What book?" said No Claws.

Agronak looked at the Black Arrow without speaking for a long time. Then he said, "No. I wasn't thirsty then as I am now, but I was going to find out sooner or later. If nothing else, people would start noticing I wasn't getting any older. I'm not sorry you did what you did."

"Are you sure?" No Claws said. "He's a strong-looking mer, for somebody so small. He'd make a good zombie."

Agronak rolled his eyes again. "No Claws, you just about killed yourself raising Verrault, and I think we have enough Undeads around for right now, don't you?"

"_You're _half Undead," No Claws pointed out.

"There is the fact that he knows we are here," LoAmai said.

"Weren't you listening? Everyone knows we're here," Agronak said. "At the very least, they know where No Claws is. The Guild might try to keep it in-house, but that doesn't do much for us."

"Then go," No Claws said. Without the querulous overtone, her voice was much older. "With the amount of magicka in the air here, I could hold off an army. We've only got to last until spring." She didn't hesitate as she said it, but the zombie looked down at her in a way that could only be called grim.

"We can't," he said.

"Barsabas…"

"You should listen to the dead man," LoAmai said. "You are powerful for such a young one, but you will burn yourself up."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that," Agronak said.

"You told me once that you wanted her to live," LoAmai said. "And I am yet your debtsworn. More than ever, since I have taken your life once."

"You, too?" said the Black Arrow. None of this was proceeding according to his expectations, and he was starting to feel confused.

"Thanks for the sword," Agronak gro-Malog said. "But you really should be leaving."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The last kynval's days were numbered. She was sure of it.

She wasn't sure what would happen to a Dremora who died unsummoned in Nirn. She knew no such individual had ever returned to Oblivion, and no Dremora would ever be sent to Aetherius by definition. Souls in Oblivion tended to recycle themselves, though time might pass (to the extent that time had any meaning there, without days or seasons).

She'd been killed while a summoned creature once or twice, though the death of the last krynvelhat to try that had freed her permanently from such servitude. She did remember quite clearly that it had hurt, although less than the subsequent discipline she'd received from her Kynmarcher for allowing a human mage to learn her name. The pain didn't frighten her particularly. LoAmai was far more concerned about what would happen afterwards. Would she be trapped in some other half-plane, unheard and unsummonable, unreachable even by necromancers? Would she at last be truly annihilated, not merely cast free to wander until reborn?

She ought to resign herself to whatever was coming. Her malaise was incurable. She was sure of it. There was even a word for it, though that was no help at all. There was a madness that would fall on one of the Kyn every so often, binding them to another soul so that nothing could free them. It was a bondage immune to all command, or debt, or pain, producing the overwhelming desire for and fixation upon its object. Dremora who fell victim to it had fractured whole clans, rupturing the bonds of loyalty and service and even fear – seeking only the other soul, forgetting all else.

The Kyn word for it was _rhedek. _There was a Cyrodilic word, too, but LoAmai didn't know that.

She named herself debtsworn to Agronak gro-Malog, but that wasn't why she followed him. It wasn't why she'd killed him, and certainly not why she had brought him back. There was no point in fighting it. Once the rhedek had you, it would never let you go.

But it _would _kill you. Oh, yes. This unhealthy fixation outside the self could only result in her destruction, the way it always did with Kyn who were similarly afflicted. The fact that she found herself angrily dreading separation from Agronak more than separation from the plane of Nirn was entirely symptomatic of the disease.

She'd heard it said that the _rhedek _was sometimes visited on the Kyn by Sanguine, when that Prince dared meddle in Dagon's domain, but it was merely idle speculation. She was more inclined to suspect the curse came from Sheogorath. At least, she was fairly certain it was going to drive her crazy before it killed her.

Or perhaps, as she'd said in a moment of sardonic humor, it really was some property of Agronak's. It was some thought along these lines that led her to say,

"He cannot leave."

The Orc and the mortal mer turned to look at her.

"What?" said Agronak, at almost the same time as the Black Arrow said, "Huh?"

"It is too easy," said LoAmai.

The two men looked at each other. Finally Agronak said, "For whom, exactly?"

"She's got a point," said the Black Arrow. "The Guild's gonna come looking again no matter what I do. I might be some use here. Might as well stay." He looked around the cavernous interior. "It's not like there's not enough room in here."

"You're liable to cause more trouble than you solve," Agronak said. "Owyn will send somebody after you, you know that."

"They'll be way behind, though," the Dunmer said. "Didn't tell anybody where I was going. If I'm still alive by the time they catch up, I can't figure anywhere I'd rather be than inside someplace with thick stone walls. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could wait until you're asleep and kill you," No Claws said. LoAmai snorted.

Agronak raised his eyebrows. "It's not technically possible to kill me while I sleep. Remember? And that's totally aside the fact that LoAmai doesn't sleep."

"There you go," said the Black Arrow. "I'll just pick out a room nobody's using."

"You might have to kill the ghosts a few times before they get the idea you're staying," Agronak said. The Black Arrow shrugged.

"Killed ghosts before," he said.

---

Word travels fast in Tamriel.

It has often been remarked that a rumor that starts in the Chapel at Cheydinhal may very well be in the Fighter's Guild in Anvil in less than two days' time. So it was no surprise that, despite Carandial's attempts at discretion, everyone soon knew exactly where Ezri Verrault had last been seen.

And, as days passed with no word from the Dunmer, the commander of the City Guard began to grow more restive once again. He'd never learned Viera Lerus's love for Bravil, and he'd never seen it as _his _city. He wanted out, and he took every opportunity of escape that the Count of Bravil allowed him.

So it was less than a Sundas later that a contingent of guards rode out again. They went over the protests of the Mages' Guild, who finally settled for sending along a contingent of battlemages. The party's direction was not aimless this time. They turned their horses toward Gedwendyll.

---

No Claws had nearly regained her full strength by that time. That wasn't saying much, of course. She'd never been very strong. And it probably would've happened faster, but she kept summoning Ezri Verrault every time she sensed her magicka reservoir creeping back up to the mark. Usually he only lasted a few seconds, which was just enough to say something sarcastic and then disappear.

She could use welkynd stones to restore her magicka, but she had a limited number of those. They seemed to reappear after they were gone from the niches a certain amount of time, but it wasn't fast enough for her to use one every day.

Now she'd been waiting a long time. She ought to be able to keep him for a few minutes, at least. No Claws now remembered the few days after she'd first summoned Barsabas, when she had a million questions and no time to ask them. And when she did, he often couldn't answer her; the magicka that went to giving him a solid body had denied him much in the way of a useful brain. The same was not true of Ezri Verrault.

No Claws stood by one of her tables, close to a brazier where the cold would not hurt her concentration, and spoke. _"Ezri."_

He materialized a little faster this time. She was getting better at it.

"I do not understand why you persist in… What is that?" Verrault said, distracted by the Ayleid ghost that was bobbing up and down in front of Barsabas. The dead man stood in the doorway as usual, but this time he was facing into the room. The ghost had followed him around as he turned.

"One of the Ayleids," No Claws said. "They like Barsabas's eyes, for some reason. I think they can tell he's not like other zombies. Actually, that's why I summoned you again. Since Barsabas has some characteristics other zombies don't have, I think we should be able to figure out how you're different from other ghosts. Especially since I could cast a dozen flash bolts with the amount of magicka it takes to get you here for five minutes."

"Your arrogance is truly astounding," Verrault said. "Didn't it ever occur to you that might simply be your lack of expertise? What makes you think I'm unlike any other summoned ghost?"

No Claws stepped forward, grabbed him by his transparent collar, and yanked him down to her eye level. "This, for starters," she said. Verrault blinked his glowing eyes in startlement as he realized she was actually touching him. "Though whether that's you or me, I'm not sure. My entire useless life I've been good at exactly one thing, and one thing only. Don't you _dare_ talk down to me when it comes to necromancy, battlemage."

Ezri's eyes lit with something blue and cold, and No Claws felt the temperature of the ectoplasm she was holding drop sharply. She let go. Ezri Verrault stepped back, fists clenched, and stood there. He raised a hand as if to cast and then stopped.

"You can do me no harm," No Claws said.

"Are you so sure of that?" said Ezri Verrault. No Claws flicked her tail. Barsabas was still looking at the Ayleid.

"Oh, yes," No Claws said. "Barsabas can always tell when I'm really in danger. Besides, you're my creature now."

"Necromancers have lost control of their creatures before," Ezri Verrault said. "I've seen them torn to bits by the daedra they themselves called."

"That's true," No Claws said. "It's part of the reason I _don't _call daedra."

"No demon could possibly loathe you as much as I do," Verrault said.

No Claws shrugged. "I don't have time for this. Draw your sword."

Ezri perforce drew the weapon. He frowned at the spectral blade, up which blue flames now crept. "That's impossible," he said.

No Claws smiled, her irritation forgotten. "See? I told you you were different," she said.

She had Barsabas's attention now, too. The Ayleid coasted sideways, crooning softly.

"That's not the sword he had when he died," Barsabas said.

"That's right," No Claws said. "Lovely, isn't it? It looks like there are runes on the blade. Read them, Ezri."

Ezri Verrault stared at the blade. "How very curious," he said. Then he disappeared. No Claws sighed in frustration. Maybe just _one _welkynd stone –

"No Claws!" called a voice from down the hallway. The echo distorted it, but it sounded like Agronak gro-Malog. It became louder as he ran nearer. "No Claws? Are you in here?"

"What is it?" she shouted back. She went to the doorway. Agronak slid to a halt a few feet away. The Dremora was visible at the end of the hallway, standing with folded arms.

"I need your eyes," Agronak said. "I can't see far in full daylight, and LoAmai is even worse."

"Why?" No Claws said. "What's happening?"

"Someone's coming," Agronak said.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"I think there are around twenty," No Claws said. "Men and mer." She stood perched uneasily atop the structure that housed the door to the ruin. Barsabas stood at the base, watching closely in case she should fall. Agronak, shading his eyes with one hand, saw only a faint cloud of dust in the eye-watering glare. LoAmai crouched against the wall of the doorwell. She was arranging the arrows in one quiver with another strapped to her back. Agronak wasn't sure how she could even walk under the weight of the arrows, but if the weight was heavy she made no sign.

"Twenty-one," said the Black Arrow. He had scaled the statue that stood by the ruin's small stone pond, which was entirely iced over. He now crouched on one shoulder of the winged elf, staring out at the horizon. "Think I see a Khajiit, too. Some of 'em have Bravil city armor. Some have hoods on."

No Claws shrugged. "You're the mer."

"Battlemages," Agronak said. "I suppose that's no surprise. No Claws, what's the last count on the Ayleids?" There was no doubt in his mind that she could tell him. If it was dead and it moved, No Claws would know where to find it.

"Two ghosts and twelve zombies," No Claws said promptly. "The zombies are mostly in the back crypts."

"See if you can herd them out into the main room, hm? Maybe they can discourage our guests a little."

"Barsabas," No Claws said. She sat on the edge of the stone and the dead man lifted her easily down.

"How d'you know they won't attack her?" said the Dunmer. He hung from the statue's arm for an instant before dropping neatly onto the edge of the pool.

"They're afraid of her," Agronak said. "And Barsabas has killed enough of them enough times that they won't want to tangle with him, either. They'll probably try to kill anything in sight once they're really attacked, though."

"Free-for-all," said the Black Arrow. "Great." He loosened his sword in its scabbard, a nervous gesture Agronak had seen before. He tried not to think about it. _Let the past be the past._

"You be careful, No Claws," Agronak said. "Once things get started, try and stay close to your room where it's warmer. You'll need to stay fast."

"Yes, of course," No Claws said.

"If you have to hide, hide," Agronak said. "If the dead man gets dispelled again you'll be on your own."

"What about you?" No Claws said. Agronak was a little surprised that she sounded genuinely concerned. _Sure, _he thought sadly_. You don't have to trust somebody to like them. I ought to know. _She wasn't looking at the Dremora, he noticed. _Well, she _is _only seventeen. You can't expect too much._

"We'll be fine," Agronak said. "You worry about you."

"You be careful, too," No Claws said, eyes darting among the other three. Then she turned and ran back into the ruin. Barsabas followed her.

Agronak looked at the Black Arrow. "Last chance to change your mind," he said. "If you side with us, everyone will know it and your chances of working legit are more or less gone."

The Dunmer grinned, white teeth in his narrow face. "Only if there's any survivors."

Agronak resisted the urge to ask _On which side? _Instead he said, "You'd better go on in and set up, then. We'll be in in just a minute."

The Dunmer looked at him silently for a second. Then he said, "Anything you say," and went inside.

When the stone door had closed behind him, LoAmai said, "Lacking in subtlety. If you want the mortal killed - "

"I do _not _want him killed," Agronak said. "And if there is anyone alive less qualified to talk about subtlety than you, I've yet to hear about it. I need to talk to you."

LoAmai shouldered the second quiver and stood up. She was just about at his eye level. "Yes?"

Agronak bit his tongue, trying to decide what to say. _She's said she knows what _friend _means, but what does it mean to a Dremora? Somebody marginally less likely to kill you than other people are? If I tell her I hope nothing happens to her, will she just interpret it as my reluctance to lose a useful ally?_

It didn't help that her face was so hard to read. Dremoras are considered by most to be an unlovely race. The bones under her skin were angular and sharp, and her purplish complexion was blotched so that it obscured the ordinary lines that would cue him. Her crimson eyes had no visible pupils, just the dark web of lines, so there was no help there either. He'd thought he was getting to a point of reading her reasonably well. Now, when understanding seemed to him most crucial, he faltered.

There was something else as well. His first thought, the first time he'd seen her, had been that she was ugly. He was having more and more trouble thinking that way. Familiarity was supposed to breed contempt, wasn't it? _Gods. I might as well be making eyes at Barsabas, who is Imperial, male, and dead besides._

In the event, what he said was:

"What will happen to you if you die here?"

"When," LoAmai said flatly. "Not if. And I do not know."

Agronak blinked. "What do you mean, 'when?' You're not getting any older still, right?"

"As best I am able to determine, no," LoAmai said.

Agronak glanced at the horizon again. The dust cloud was beginning to resolve itself into shapes, but the winter sun was still too painfully bright for him to tell much about them. "Then what's wrong?"

LoAmai looked at the approaching party rather than at Agronak. He took note of this in some startlement. "Nothing is wrong."

"If this is the famed Dremora skill at dissimulation, I'm not impressed," Agronak said.

"I do _not _intend to discuss it," LoAmai said. Her voice had taken on the semblance of a growl, the alien harmonic much stronger than before.

Agronak folded his arms and leaned against the wall of the doorwell. "Is this like that time when you were sick, but you wouldn't say anything because you thought I would leave you behind?"

LoAmai whirled on him, snarling. "_No_."

"Then what is it?" he said.

The Dremora stared at him for a long moment, growling under her breath. Then she turned and stalked inside the ruin. Agronak followed her silently, wondering exactly what he'd said. _That is one very unhappy Dremora, and I have no idea why, and there's a good chance I won't live to find out. Bloody, flaming Akatosh._

LoAmai was nowhere in sight by the time Agronak made it to the ruin's main chamber. There were already several zombies wandering about the room, apparently aimless but still avoiding the pit trap. It seemed to have reset itself after the Black Arrow had tripped it. More of the scattered bones were broken than before, but they were all back at floor level. There was no sign of spikes, No Claws, or the Black Arrow. Agronak circumvented the zombies, who appeared to ignore him, and went down the short left hall to the crypt on that side. It seemed empty as well. Even the ghosts were gone, apparently already dragooned by No Claws.

Agronak reset the mace trap in the doorway, edged the foot plate over so it was less visible in the ruin's deep blue shadows, and went to sit on a slab. He waited. And waited. _They've probably got a ways to ride still, and then they'll have to argue about who goes first through the door._

It seemed like hours before he heard anything. Then there were distant voices:

"See if you can prop that open. It's possible sunlight my harm the creature if we can lure him this way."

"I doubt it. He used to fight in the Arena, and you can't do that without being in daylight all the time."

"Could someone come up with a light? I can't see a thing and my hands are full…"

"Shhh. Did you hear something?"

Agronak grinned quietly in the dark. One of the zombies came up with another spine-wrenching moan. Agronak got up and hopped over the mace trap's foot plate, then padded down the hall so he could see out into the main room. The other doorways he could see were dark. He could distinguish a shape here and there – the taller one was probably LoAmai – but they would be completely invisible to normal human vision.

"The vampire Orc is there," said an older voice. "He has a sword. There's a Dunmer with another sword and a Dremora with a bow _there _and _there._"

_And if mages were ordinary humans, that would mean something, _Agronak concluded grimly. _Wonderful. We had to end up with one that has real experience._

"I'd just as soon not have to kill anyone," Agronak said loudly.

"That's a good one," said one of the younger voices, probably a city guard. "Hey, Trajian, the vampire says he doesn't want to have to kill anyone."

"I'm only half vampire, you know," Agronak said.

"You are harboring a necromancer," said the older voice, whom Agronak assumed to be Trajian. "You will not deceive us with your lies."

"She's only seventeen years old," Agronak said.

There was a thoughtful pause. One of the city guards said, "Is that true?"

"It does not matter," said Trajian. "There is a pit trap in the floor where the bones lie. Go around it."

Now he could actually see the first few city guards making their way around the narrow rim of the pit, torches in hand. One of the zombies saw the light and lurched toward them, moaning. The guard swung at it with his sword. The creature staggered sideways onto the rim of the pit trap. Then it disappeared as the floor vanished from under it.

Then a ball of fire flew from the area Agronak couldn't see and hit another Undead across the room. It shrieked in fury and charged toward the source of the spell – straight into the pit. Most of the others followed it.

_Hm. Well, it _seemed _like a good idea_. Now more guards were edging around the pit trap. He counted as men in armor and hoods came into view as well. They were keeping close to the walls, trying to avoid becoming targets for LoAmai's arrows. _Not that that will make a difference. Shadows don't bother her as much as they would –_

Another fireball lit up the doorway that held the Dremora. She was lying flat when it flew over her head, apparently having thrown herself prone just in time.

"Hey," Agronak said. "She wasn't even doing anything to you."

"I was waiting for _you_, Orc," LoAmai snarled, and then she slid back out of view. A second later he heard the nasal vibration of the bowstring. One of the city guards toppled into the pit. Agronak caught a glimpse of the arrow sticking out of his eye socket. The next one caught it in the chest, and then another battlemage threw a fireball and the Dremora crawled rapidly back into the passage.

"Wasn't what I meant," Agronak muttered. The older battlemage was visible now, staying back against the shadowed wall. He was human, and his race was hard to tell in his steel armor and hood, but his accent had been Breton. _No surprise there. Lots of battlemages are Bretons. _One or two of the other mages seemed to be female, but Agronak noted that merely in passing. If you had a problem hitting women, you were going to have a very short career in the Arena. Agronak had lasted fifteen years.

_So thirteen city guards and eight mages. That's a few more spellcasters than I wanted to see. _He guessed there was probably more than one School of Destruction expert among them. At least, they'd be fools to go out after any sort of vampire without at _least_ one Destructionist. _The Breton is probably their Alterationist, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's got some skill in other schools too. My luck being what it is, I _know _they've got an Illusion specialist in there somewhere. _

_I hate Illusionists._

The mages were probably more dangerous to him than to LoAmai, whose resistance to magicka was ridiculously high as the result of lifetimes of being hit with spells. Still, you only had to be paralyzed for a second for somebody to stab you to death, and she didn't have a breastplate…

"Right," Agronak said. He drew his sword and slid out into the room. _All I really have to do is avoid being set on f – _

He ducked a fireball. It exploded on the wall behind him with a _boom _and a hiss. Apparently the elder Breton wasn't the only one with a good grasp of Detect Life spells. Agronak dropped all pretense of stealth and ran, skirting the pit. Other spells impacted on the wall behind him as he went, but no one had Agronaks' reflexes and he was moving too fast for them to target ahead of him. _I hope._

"The Dunmer's running away," someone called from up ahead. Agronak guessed by the larger insignia on his cuirass that he was the Guard Commander.

"Send five guardsmen after him," said Trajian. "They will be little use against the vampire in any case."

"Right." The Commander pointed rapidly at five men. They split off and went down the passage after the Black Arrow.

Agronak paused in the corner, close to the larger landing that now held the guardsmen. "I'd send more than five, if I were you," he said, and dodged another spell. He had to skip over the corner of the pit to hit the landing. "But then, you don't know who he is, do you?"

"You know, Commander, he did look kind of familiar when I talked to him back at the barracks," said one of the remaining guards.

"Ever been to the Arena in the Imperial City?" Agronak said.

There was a pause, followed by a brief spate of heartfelt profanity.

Agronak grinned, but didn't lower his sword. "We'll still let the rest of you leave," he said. "No bounty's worth losing your life over. Some of you mages will have fought vampires before, right? What's the percentage on coming back alive from _those _expeditions?"

"It is not good," said Trajian. "But you know that, monster. I myself have returned six times from the killing of creatures like yourself."

"Is that so?" Agronak said. "How often were you the lone survivor?"

He felt rather than saw the nervous glances of the other mages.

"You see why I've warned you about the deceptive power of the vampire?" said Trajian, and threw another fireball. Agronak avoided it easily, and then all of the other mages were casting at once and he was very busy for a few seconds. The city guards, from what he could tell while furiously rolling and dodging, were standing back with drawn swords, providing a wall from behind which the mages could cast. Only one seemed to have a bow, and Agronak was moving too quickly for him to draw a bead. _Again, I hope._

"Gods, he's fast," said someone. Whoever it was sounded a little less sure of themselves. Agronak sighed inwardly. _I've made them doubt whether they can take me, not whether I deserve to be killed. Divines._

Agronak finally spun aside into the doorway through which the Dremora had disappeared. The barrage stopped temporarily as the mages lost track of him. _Some of them are probably out of magicka now, too, though I can't count on that for long with Trajian._

"LoAmai?" he said, without looking behind him. He was watching the doorway.

"Yes," said the Dremora's voice.

"They'll be in after us in a second. The casters will want me in a tight space where I can't get away from them as easily." He paused, listening to Trajian give orders. "What in Oblivion…?" LoAmai waited while Agronak listened to the conversation. "He's got to be out of his mind. He's coming back here with just the guard commander."

"What of the rest?" LoAmai said.

"He sent them after No Claws," Agronak said.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

No Claws heard the tramping footsteps in the hall.

"That sounds like a lot of them," she said. Barsabas looked at the wall.

"Twelve," he said. "Five in the same uniform. The rest have hoods. One is a Khajiit."

"How can you tell?" No Claws said. "I know you can't cast spells at all, so it can't be a Detect Life." She was busily stuffing welkynd stones into a satchel hung across her body from one shoulder.

"They bend the mana in the air," Barsabas said.

"Oh." No Claws grabbed the last tubular blue crystal in her hand and concentrated. It went _whommm, _and she felt an electric tingle up her spine as her magicka shot all the way up to its highest level. "Listen. Some of them will be able to cast pretty high dispel, so take this."

She took a copper ring out of her pocket and gave it to the dead man. "I found it in one of the crypts. It only reflects about ten percent, but it'll help. Just buy me some time and try and thin them out, all right? I'll get you back as soon as I can."

Barsabas put the ring on his smallest finger. His scarred knuckles were too knobby for it to fit anything else. Then he put a hand on each of No Claws' shoulders, something he couldn't have done on his own a month ago. "Be careful of that ghost," he said. "Now tell me I can kill them."

"But you know you can," No Claws said. "You summoned yourself. You don't need my permission."

"You have to tell me," he said stubbornly. The footsteps were getting closer.

No Claws looked up at her zombie. He looked back in perfect stillness. "Barsabas," she said. "Kill."

Barsabas smiled, showing his yellow teeth. He made a noise deep in his throat. It wasn't quite like the noises the other zombies made, but the guttural moan was still there. He turned and ran out into the hallway. No Claws moved back to the corner of the room, shaking her head in exasperation. _I don't know whether I should love or hate that he pretends he's still my creature. I love Barsabas. That's enough._

---

The first spell hit Barsabas square in the chest before he was two steps out of the doorway. The impact knocked him half sideways. He straightened up slowly, still grinning. He might not be able to dodge as well as Agronak gro-Malog – among other things, his senses were less than human where they weren't completely gone – but he had something else Agronak did not have.

Zombies don't feel pain.

Barsabas looked at the crowded hallway. Three guards stood abreast in the corridor in front of the mages, swords drawn. He could see two others close behind.

"That would have killed a living man," said a mage.

"A living man this is not," said a Khajiiti voice. "He stinks of liquor and worse, yes. This one thinks perhaps he is a summoned."

Another spell arced over the guards' heads. Barsabas didn't try to dodge the dispel charge. It dissipated with a _poof _when it hit him. The impact was negligible this time. He didn't even feel himself start to break up.

"Any more brainy ideas back there?" said one of the guards. "Or can we just cut him up? He's only one man. Creature. Thing."

"Be my guest," snapped the first mage. The swordsmen moved forward. One had a claymore. Barsabas, calculating with the perfect calm of one who is already dead, decided to take him first. _Pain or no pain, I need all my limbs to stay on._

Then a green ball of magicka flew past him and hit one of the other guards. The man toppled stiffly sideways, losing his grip on his sword.

"Stay _there, _No Claws," Barsabas said, and stamped on the man's head. The nearest guard swung the claymore. Barsabas leaned sideways and punched him in the side. The man was wearing full chainmail. One of Barsabas's knucklebones broke, but so did one of the guard's ribs. Barsabas heard the double _crack. _The man cried out and staggered sideways, but he'd kept his grip, and then one of the others stabbed Barsabas through the heart.

Barsabas ignored the sword completely, seized the offender's cuirass front with one hand, and hit him in the nose with the heel of the other. His chainmail helmet had a nasal, but it bent under the force of the blow. He screamed as it utterly crushed his nose. Barsabas grunted as two swords pierced his kidneys. He twitched sideways, making their owners lose their grip.

Barsabas picked up the man with the broken nose and threw him into the mages. He turned to deal with the others just in time to see a knifeblade coming at his head. He ducked, and it clattered off a shield somewhere behind him. It wouldn't have hurt, but a blade in his brain was almost the only thing that could discorporate him.

The swords in his lower back were grinding against his spine, probably the intended target, and he could feel them severing muscle as he moved. Barsabas took a quick step backward, reached back, and jerked them free. He threw them at the mages. One of them threw an ice spell back. He ducked it as he seized hold of the sword that had pierced his heart. He threw it away, too. It was impossible for him to bleed to death, and he had no idea how to use one.

Then he turned to face the guards. They were now armed only with daggers. He was slower now, necessarily bent from the damage to his back, but not slow enough. The first one to take a swipe at him got a knee to the gut for his trouble, and then Barsabas yanked his helmet and jabbed a knuckle accurately into his temple. Barsabas's knuckles were

even harder than usual, thanks to the cold in the corridor. The man dropped dead.

Barsabas whirled to face the three men still standing. The man with the claymore and the broken rib was hunched, but upright. One of the others still had a sword. The one with the dagger held it in a throwing grip, but he was still for the moment. The seven mages still stood together in a group, watching. One or two were muttering shield spells, and another was drinking from a glass bottle, probably fortifying his magicka.

"Zombies aren't that fast," said the man with the sword.

"Zombies don't speak, either," said one of the mages. "But he is obviously not alive."

"What are you?" demanded one of the guards.

Barsabas smiled, and did not answer. The guard with the knife was edging back down the hallway toward No Claws's room. He was out of Barsabas' line of sight, but that didn't matter. Barsabas fell straight backward, rolled, and hit him in the back of the knees. He fell directly atop Barsabas, and one of his armored elbows impacted solidly in his gut.

Of course, having the air knocked out of your lungs is also not something that happens to zombies. Barsabas calmly reached up, seized his head, and torqued it sideways so hard that his neck snapped. He shoved the dead weight off and was back on his feet before the others got to him.

The dead man lost his right leg at the knee. The two city guards lost their lives. It seemed like a fair trade to Barsabas. He leaned against the wall, balancing on his good leg.

"Anyone else have mana left?" said one of the mages.

"This one has only steel," said the Khajiiti voice, and then the cat-man darted forward between the guards and cut at Barsabas' neck. There was no dodging on one leg. He felt himself discorporate as the blade slid through his neck.

_No Claws, _he thought, and then he fell into sparks and was back in the darkness again.

---

No Claws ducked back into her room when Barsabas shouted at her. It's not technically possible for Argonians to blush, but she would have. She seized another welkynd stone and used it. She would need every scrap of magicka for what was coming next. _Nobody out there has much of a dispel, and they don't have welkynd stones. That's a start._

_Yes, and there are still seven other spellcasters. _She had no doubt at all that Barsabas would kill all of the city guards. She wasn't sorry. It had been a long year, and she was getting very tired of people trying to kill her. She liked her room. She liked the ruin. She'd even been starting to like Agronak gro-Malog just a little. And they were trying to take all of it away, and her life besides.

No Claws drew up her magicka once more. "_Ezri."_

The ghost coalesced out of the air in front of her. "Well," he said. "It appears I will be yours for a little longer this time, child of evil. That will cost you."

"I know," No Claws said, lashing her tail. "We're about to be attacked by probably seven spellcasters, depending on how well Barsabas does. You're going to kill as many as you can."

There was a scream from out in the hallway, then a _crack._

"They will have come expecting Undeads," Ezri said. "And I am bereft of all but cold magic now. I doubt it will be much good."

"Draw your sword," No Claws said. Ezri Verrault drew the blue blade. Cold fire flared along its length. No Claws felt her magicka begin to drain away. She used another welkynd stone hurriedly.

"You will force me to kill these men whom I know?" Ezri Verrault. "With whom I might have been friends?"

"Are you?" No Claws said.

Verrault's translucent lips flattened to a thin line, but he still could not lie to her. "No."

"Or is it just that you're used to attacking lone women in the name of all that's right and good?" No Claws said. She knew that wasn't true – Ezri Verrault was in all likelihood as nauseatingly virtuous as No Claws in every physical sense – but she was looking for a reaction.

She got one. Steam was rising off the blue blade now, forming a black aura around it that somehow still seemed to glow. Ezri Verrault's eyes began to take on the same look, blacker and more solid than his ghostly body. "Words cannot express how much I hate you," he said.

There were more shrieks from the hallway.

"Really?" No Claws said, ignoring them. "Because I think you're one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It doesn't matter either way. I can't maintain even a simple shield and you at the same time. Defend me."

Footsteps were coming down the hall now. Ezri Verrrault made a thrumming noise, a rising vibration almost too deep to be heard. No Claws grabbed up the rusty knife, for all the good that would do.

Battlemages appeared in the doorway. The light from the braziers gleamed on steel armor and silken robes. Most had drawn steel, but there were a couple of staves. A tall Khajiit stood in front, wearing a simple gray robe. No Claws held up her empty hand.

"I'd rather not hurt you," she said. "But I will."

"Argonian," said someone in back. "That explains the heat."

"Is that Ezri Verrault?"

"Yes," said the Khajiit. He bowed his head deferentially. "And it seems the vampire did not lie regarding your age, clawless one. This one regrets the path you have chosen."

"I didn't choose," No Claws said. "I am."

"It is this one's request that you let him rest," said the Khajiit. "This one would not wish to be Undead."

No Claws blinked. "I'm surprised you ask it of me," she said. "But all right."

"What kind of talk is that?" said another mage.

"This is a No Claws," said the Khajiit calmly. "We are all going to die."


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: I just wanted to say that if I see any comments containing the words "sitting in a tree," I am coming after somebody with a daedric claymore. Thank you._

Chapter 12

The five city guardsmen followed the hallway until it opened out into a crypt. Stone coffins lined the walls, and above them the niches were full of scattered bones. They found the Dunmer squatting atop the last one in line, his sword hanging carelessly in one hand.

"Five of you'n one of me," he said. "Hardly seems fair."

"You should've thought of that before you moved in with the vampire," said one of the guards.

"Maybe I could stand on one leg or something," said the Dunmer.

The guards looked at each other. They did it very briefly, because something about the Dunmer suggested taking their eyes off him was a bad idea. "Cocky little bastard," said one.

The Black Arrow grinned. "That's me," he said, and leapt.

---

Agronak gro-Malog, meanwhile, was cursing silently and bleeding quite a lot. In an even contest of physical skill, the Guard Commander of Bravil would have lasted about five seconds. _Maybe less. _But the mage Trajian had surrounded him with a powerful shield, visible only as a skin of purple iridescence over his armor and flesh, and Agronak's ebony sword would not pierce it. He was reduced to using the weapon essentially as a club, and even then the impact was less than it should be. Agronak could easily hit hard enough to crush the man's skull. Between the shield and the man's mail helmet, he'd hardly bruised him.

_No cast shield should last that long, not even from a Breton. _He couldn't spare a look at the battlemage, who was fending off LoAmai's arrows with a steel tower shield. He was losing blood fast from the diagonal cut across his chest and belly. His shirt and trousers were soaked where they were intact. _I'm lucky my intestines aren't hanging out. If he'd been one whit closer…_

"This is stupid," Agronak said, and sidestepped another blow from the silver claymore. He jabbed at the man's belly, but the sword didn't sink in. The human just staggered slightly and righted himself.

"Talkative monster," grunted the Commander. He was big for a human, taller than Agronak. Agronak guessed he was a Nord. The wisps of hair that stuck out under the helmet were pale, and his eyes were very blue.

"I agree," LoAmai said, though she did not clarify with whom. There was a pause as she ducked a bolt of frost from the mage. "You know what will pierce that shield."

"No, I don't," Agronak said. He dodged again, but it was closer this time. He was slowing down.

"That which is sharp, and is not a weapon," LoAmai said.

Agronak clenched his teeth as he realized what she meant. "I won't do that. You know it."

"You will bleed to death," the Dremora said. "I cannot save you this time."

"That's right," said the Guard Commander, and swung the claymore again. Agronak leaned far back, then took a quick step to the right.

"I won't do it," Agronak said. He swung the ebony sword at the Nord's knee. It must have hit just right; the joint buckled, sending the man to his knees. Agronak snatched the Nord's helmet off with one hand and brought the sword down with all his strength.

In the normal course of things, the man's skull should have been pulped. As it was, Agronak felt the impact all the way up his arms, as if he'd hit something made of stone. The Nord cried out and fell over, half-stunned. The noise seemed to momentarily attract Trajian's attention. The mage raised his shield with one hand and reached out toward the Nord with the other, preparing to cast another spell.

LoAmai threw herself at him feet-first and hit him in the shins. He was wearing steel armor. Her boots were daedric. It was no contest. Agronak heard the _crink _of buckling metal, and then both of them hit the ground. Agronak stomped down hard on the Nord's head, jarring his entire leg, and left him lying unconscious as he darted toward the other two.

LoAmai drew her knife as the mage's hand flared with red magicka. They struck at almost the same instant. The Dremora was thrown backward, sliding across the floor, but the mage fell dead with her knife in his eye. Agronak slid to his knees beside her.

"Are you all right?" he said.

She sniffed as she sat up. "Of course."

"Your ears are bleeding."

The Dremora shrugged. "It will pass. It is not this which will kill me." She crawled back to the dead mage, retrieved her dagger, and wiped it on his robe. She did not sheathe it as she looked at Agronak.

"There's that again," Agronak said. He was panting now, dizzy. The room was taking on a tendency to tilt now that he wasn't moving, and now he had time to notice the pain. His fingers lost their grip on the ebony sword, and it hit the floor with a chiming noise. He glanced back at the Nord, who showed no sign of budging. The shield had gone with Trajian's death. "What's wrong with you?"

"The rhedek has me," LoAmai said. "Further than that there is no point in saying. You do not have time."

"No," Agronak said. "LoAmai. You listen to me."

"I am listening." She started to edge past him. He seized her arm. She looked at his fingers, then at his face. "Let go."

"I've been dead before," Agronak said. "Probably will again. Don't kill the Nord."

"You will need his blood," LoAmai said. She freed herself impatiently, then caught Agronak's shoulder as he overbalanced and fell. She lowered him with a strong hand.

"Don't do it," Agronak ground out as his cheek touched the stone floor. "Not while he's... Still helpless..."

The familiar dark spun up at him.

---

The last kynval watched Agronak's eyes glaze over with something like annoyance. "I would rather not have to do this again," she said. Inconvenience, or even pain, was not the least of it. Blood was something to be violently taken, not freely offered. To do things otherwise was obscene.

There was no answer. Agronak gro-Malog had stopped breathing. LoAmai sighed and reached out to drag Trajian's corpse over within reach. Only living blood could allow the half-Orc to regenerate. The same was not true for a Dremora.

"It will serve you right if the mortal comes to and kills us both," she said. She rolled Agronak onto his back, slit her right wrist up to the elbow, and laid it on the gory wound. Then she stabbed a neat hole in Trajian's neck artery. After the initial spurt it flowed slowly, without a heart to drive it. "Agronak gro-Malog, you fool," LoAmai said. "Were it not for this curse, I swear I would leave you to find your own way to Oblivion."

Agronak took a sudden breath. LoAmai tensed, then forced herself to relax. It made sense that he would recover faster. Last time he'd had his life drained by magicka as well as an arrow through his heart.

"What curse?" he said. The edges of his wound were creeping toward one another. LoAmai unfastened her lips from Trajian's neck. It was unpleasantly cool, the way all mortal flesh was, but the stone she sat on was colder.

"The rhedek," she said, and drank again.

"You know I only speak Cyrodilic," Agronak said quietly.

LoAmai was forcibly reminded of her earlier remarks regarding the taste of mortal blood. She spat before she said, "I know no other word. When one of the Kyn is bound to another, beyond the heeding of commands or the seeking of self, it destroys him. I am not sure what was my sin, but I am so bound."

"Actually, we do have a word for that," Agronak said. His voice was gaining in strength. He sat up on his elbows as the last thin line of the cut annealed, leaving a gray scar. "We call it love."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

No Claws stood looking the Khajiiti mage in the face. His eyes were large and yellow, the pupil wide in the dim light.

"You don't have to," she said. "Nobody has to die. I'm not doing anyone any harm here. I only killed Ezri because he was trying to kill _me_. Ask him."

"He is your creature," the Khajiit said, not unkindly. "He must say what you tell him to say."

"Tell the truth, Ezri," No Claws said immediately.

"I would have killed her," Ezri Verrault said. His voice was slightly distorted by the same vibration that seemed to come from the blue sword. "It was my mission, as it is yours. The clawless-born may not be suffered to live. It is too dangerous."

"That doesn't sound like a man who's lying," said a stocky Breton woman in iron armor. "I ought to know."

"Unfortunately, it is entirely too true," the Khajiit said. He shook his head as he looked at No Claws. "This one has nothing against you, small Argonian. But he would rather die here than return without having succeeded. The risk is too great for Tamriel at large."

"It's only a birth sign," No Claws said desperately. "Tamriel's had necromancers practically since time began!"

"I think she really doesn't know," said the Breton in the iron. "It seems Tar-meena took the book back too soon."

"Don't do this," No Claws pleaded.

The Khajiit shook his head again, and sprang suddenly forward with his sword.

The steel clanged on the ghostly blade of Ezri Verrault. The other mages crowded in. No Claws threw herself flat to avoid a bolt from a staff, then rolled behind the corner of the slab. She peered out carefully.

"Dibella's tits," No Claws said, the strongest profanity she'd learned in a short and sheltered life. She'd begun to doubt that Ezri Verrault was a good choice for a summoned specter. He was too old, too set in his ways, too hateful. Perhaps she'd even begun to doubt whether he was even much of a battlemage.

She'd been wrong. _Very, very wrong._

Three mages stood back. Two were angling for a shot, waiting for their magicka to recharge, though the woman in iron seemed to be hesitating. Ezri Verrault was fighting four people at once. Normally this is the next best thing to impossible in a tight space, involving fighting one or two while the others stab you in the kidneys, but Ezri seemed to know exactly where his body should be and where everyone else's was at the same time. His phantom robes flew out around him as if they had real weight. More than one blade broke on the burning sword. The ghost's eyes burned black.

The Khajiiti mage finally got a cut in. The sword went in at Ezri's shoulder and out at his hip. It slid through the ectoplasm with a glutinous sound, like a knife through lard. No Claws hurriedly restored her magicka again. She was getting a headache now, and her arms and legs felt heavy, the way they had when she'd summoned Ezri for the first time. If the room had been any colder, she wasn't sure she could have stayed awake.

"Kssshhthat _hurt,_" Verrault said. His clothing and the stuff that served him for flesh closed without a mark as he whirled on the Khajiit. The burning blade met the steel again, and this time the steel snapped. The broken end hit the floor with a rattle, and then Ezri Verrault stabbed the Khajiit through the body and cut sideways. The burning blade did not leave a hole, but the wound caught the blue flames and burned. The Khajiit rolled away, beating at his robes. His struggles grew feeble as the flame died out.

Ezri Verrault fought harder yet.

No Claws dug the knife into her arm, not only to give Barsabas an anchor but to keep herself conscious. She slumped back against the slab as she used one more welkynd stone. She no longer had the strength to lean around the corner, so she heard rather than saw the zombie's arrival. One of the mages screamed. Then the sound cut off abruptly.

No Claws smiled to herself. _That's my Barsabas._

There was a furious scuffle of many feet, and another pained hiss from Ezri. There were thudding noises. Then it was quiet, except for the sound of footsteps backing away.

"I mean her no harm," said the Breton woman's voice.

"Don't kill her," No Claws said. She couldn't muster much volume, but she was confident they would hear her. _I have to stay awake. If I lose it now, Ezri will be gone and Barsabas won't disobey me, and if she's lying I'll be dead._

"Kshhk_be quick_," said Verrault's voice, now barely distinguishable. "The magicka is almost gone."

"Barsabas," No Claws said. A moment later he loomed into her field of view. His brow wrinkled in a familiar way as he looked at her. "Pick me up." He bent and scooped her off the floor. She let go of the knife. Barsabas turned so that she could see the room.

Ezri Verrault stood in the center of a circle of nearly unmarked bodies. Some of their robes were still burning, but the pale flames went out as the mages breathed their last. The blade burned low as he held it out to one side, staring at the one surviving battlemage with burning eyes.

The woman stood her ground, but her hands were empty.

"Brave woman," Verrault said. He made a sound like a drop of water hitting a griddle and disappeared. No Claws felt it, a twist and a shock at the top of her spine, the way she once had whenever Barsabas was unsummoned. She let the air out of her lungs with a _whoosh _as the burden of magicka shooting through her veins was eased.

"Is she hurt?" said the battlemage. No Claws' limited view of Barsabas face showed her the cold and distant look he generally turned on Agronak gro-Malog.

"Just tired," No Claws said. "Ezri is... hard to maintain..."

"Why did you tell them not to kill me?" said the woman.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," No Claws said. "Just wanted to live."

"And bind souls to your service?" the woman said.

Barsabas's arms tightened slightly around No Claws. "I'm not bound," he said. "I called her first. I didn't want to be dead."

"Ezri Verrault would not have wished to be Undead," the Breton said.

"He wasn't ready to go," No Claws said. "He was... stuck."

"And so he made a bargain?" The Breton said. "Yes. I didn't know him well, but it sounds like something he would do. If you spend so very long pursuing the darkness..." She shook her head. "Gods forgive me for what I am about to do. Child, are you entirely alone?"

"No," No Claws said.

"Let me rephrase," the Breton said dryly. "Is there within your present circle of acquaintanceship one ordinary living creature?"

"Ordinary?" No Claws said, thinking of the Black Arrow. "No."

"Then perhaps it's time there was," said the Breton. "I'm entirely weary of the Archmage's highhanded approach to the Guild's governance. You ought to be taught who you are and what you're capable of, before you discover it all the wrong way."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," No Claws said. She reached up and patted Barsabas's shoulder. He stiffened slightly.

"I will not go," Barsabas said.

"I won't send them away," No Claws said. "Not even Ezri. They'd have nowhere to go. There's no way to do the Rite for them even if I was willing. Even if _they _were."

"Yes, I see that," the woman said thoughtfully, looking at Barsabas. "At least let me bring you the book, hm? You should have the information."

"Put me over there, Barsabas," No Claws said, to buy herself a minute to think. The zombie set her carefully on the slab. She sat upright on the edge with an effort, trying to stay straight-backed.

_She probably just wants to get out of here so she can report all she's seen. Come back with more of them, or some magic weapon. _No Claws looked around at the dead men and women on the floor. She'd seen corpses before, naturally. She just didn't generally see how they got that way. The look of horror on the dead Khajiit's face made her sick in a way that the stench of a dozen zombies never could.

_Even if she's lying, I'm not going to stop her._

"Go," No Claws said.

The Breton's look was not completely unsympathetic. "My name is Nissa Trajian," she said. "We'll meet again."

No Claws heard her heavy boots retreating up the hall. "I doubt it," she said. Barsabas looked at her, but did not ask the obvious question. "You used to kill people for a living, right?" No Claws said. She rubbed the top of her muzzle tiredly. "In the Arena?"

"For a little while," Barsabas said.

"Ever have to kill somebody who didn't deserve to die?"

"Yes," Barsabas said. "But you didn't kill these. I did. And Ezri."

No Claws twitched her tail across the slab. "My hand on the bowstring," she said. "Doesn't matter that the arrow does the piercing. Go and see how many more of them there are."

"You'll be alone," Barsabas said.

"I can summon Ezri again if I have to."

"No, you can't," Barsabas said.

"We owe something to Agronak gro-Malog," No Claws said. "Go find him, Barsabas."

He got that pinched look he tended to get when he disagreed with her, but he went.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Agronak gro-Malog wiped his hands as best he could, seized his sword, and scrambled upright. LoAmai watched him warily as she stood up, but he knew better than to offer her a hand up this time.

"It doesn't have to be fatal, you know," he said. "Mortals live out their entire lives - "

LoAmai shot him a look. "Entire _mortal _lives."

"There's that. Come on. We'd better find No Claws. With twelve of them after her…"

"What about the Nord?" LoAmai said.

"Leave him. Either he'll get away or the Ayleids'll get him. I don't think I care which." Agronak's damp clothes were sticky and rapidly growing unpleasantly cool. He tried to ignore that as the two of them ran back toward the main room. He stopped at the doorway to peer out. A couple of very angry zombies were wandering back and forth, declaiming in loud and wordless voices, but that was all. No shadow in a doorway could be mistaken for human. No hum of stored magicka betrayed a mage's ambush.

He twitched as a pair of arrows zipped past his ear. The Ayleids toppled over into the pit, still complaining.

"Could you warn me before you do that?" Agronak said.

"Do not presume too much on this rhedek, Agronak gro-Malog," LoAmai said.

"You're a hopeless romantic, I can see that." He ignored the outraged swearing in a daedric tongue as he ran to the doorway that led to No Claws' room. _She knows what the word means, anyway. There's hope. _He edged around the corner of the hallway, sword in hand.

The stone floor was littered with broken bodies. One man had had his arm torn completely off, including the chainmail. Agronak wrinkled his nose at the smell, but he was relieved to see Barsabas standing by the door to No Claws' room. _If she was dead, he wouldn't be here. _

The zombie stood and frowned at the collection of corpses.

"What happened?" Agronak said.

"There were twelve," Barsabas said. "I killed some of them."

"What happened to the rest?"

"Ezri," Barsabas said succinctly. "No Claws let one go."

"Is she all right?" Agronak said.

"Tired." Barsabas looked slightly guilty, but did not elaborate. He followed Agronak and LoAmai back into the room. It was necessary to step over a dead Breton on the threshold. Agronak winced at his expression. There were more bodies inside the room, and most of them had scorch marks on their clothing. _That's funny._

"I thought ghosts couldn't do fire magic," Agronak said. A ragged bundle uncurled on a slab and became the Argonian. She sat up, arms around her knees. Only the end of her long muzzle stuck out from under her hood.

"Mostly they can't," she said. "Ezri's sword burns. Are you all right? Did Barsabas find you?" Her voice was a little muffled, as if she'd been weeping. _I'm positive she'll never have seen this many people killed in front of her._

"We're fine now," Agronak said. He looked ruefully at the remains of his shirt and pants. "My clothes are for it, admittedly, but that's all. And actually, we found you."

No Claws' scaly nose swiveled toward the dead man. "Barsabas," she said reproachfully.

The dead man's lips flattened to a thin line. "We don't know how many more there are. You shouldn't be alone." Agronak blinked as he realized Barsabas had done what no summoned creature can ever do. _He disobeyed. _

"No harm done," Agronak said. "And actually I agree with Barsabas. Has anyone seen the Dunmer?"

"No," No Claws said. "We've been right here. Apparently." She shot Barsabas another look from under her hood. He looked back unblinkingly, something for which zombies are particularly well equipped.

"Barsabas said one of the mages got away," Agronak said neutrally.

No Claws took a deep breath. "Yes. She surrendered, more or less. I let her go."

"Young fool," LoAmai said. She didn't bother to look up as she rummaged through a dead Khajiit's belt pouch. Agronak rolled his eyes.

"I don't think she can tell anyone what they don't already know," No Claws said. "And there's a chance she'll come back with a book I want. Not much of one, but it's a chance."

"What kind of book do you want that badly?" Agronak said.

The Argonian explained briefly. "They seemed to think my being a No Claws was… very serious. Especially that Khajiit your Dremora is looting."

"She's not my Dremora."

"Yes, I am," LoAmai growled. She extracted a large ring and held it up to the light.

Agronak blinked. "Right."

No Claws pushed back her hood, squinting in the firelight. "You're not blushing, are you?" she said accusingly. "Can half-vampires even do that?"

"I'm sure we can't." _Bloody Oblivion, _he thought_. We can. _"Do you really think there's a chance this mage will come back here?"

"Oh, she'll be back," No Claws said. Her shoulders slumped. "It's more a question of whether she'll be alone."

"Well, like you said," Agronak said. "The Guild obviously knows we're here already."

"It was worse than I thought," The Argonian whispered. Her voice was raw. "They were willing to die, Agronak. What kind of monster could I possibly be, that would make it worth that? It's not because I'm a necromancer. Ezri was that much of a fanatic, but most of these people weren't. It's because I'm a No Claws."

LoAmai grunted. She was presently depriving another battlemage of his steel cuirass, followed by his shirt. "The Aedryn are no less covetous of souls than are the Princes of Oblivion. The one whose name you spoke - "

"Arkay?"

"- Is perhaps taking note of the power you are using." She held up the shirt, which appeared to be unmarked. Agronak found that more than slightly odd, considering the burn marks on the corpse's bare chest.

"I've only got two," No Claws said. "And ordinary conjurers summon demons out of Oblivion. Isn't that worse than bringing the dead back when they don't want to be dead? It doesn't make any sense."

"Speaking as a daedra who has been so summoned, I agree." LoAmai tossed the shirt to Agronak. He caught it.

"Thanks. I've got some other pants back in the crypt. I might pick up some chainmail, too..." Agronak looked back at the unhappy girl on the slab. The suggestion of Arkay's displeasure made him acutely uncomfortable. He had been raised moderately religious, if not exactly pious. _Helping LoAmai wasn't exactly wrong, right? The Command of Stendarr says to protect the weak. _

_Great. Maybe Stendarr will object when Arkay and Julianos start pitching lightning bolts at my head. Maybe they already have._

He considered a brotherly pat on the shoulder, but there were still flakes of dried blood on his hands. Besides, Barsabas was giving him that look again.

"It'll be all right," Agronak said, as gently as possible. _I guess I can always sign up with Malacath. He's supposed to like Orcs._

No Claws looked at him sideways. A notch-pupiled eye gleamed wet in the firelight. "I don't see how."

"Because we are going to make it that way," Agronak said. "We've just got to make it until the thaw, and then you can travel and we'll find another place. Somewhere hidden."

"And how will you do that?" said LoAmai. "Given that you know barely more of this land than do I?"

Agronak shrugged. Someone was breathing raggedly out in the hallway, walking with a dragging step. From the corner of his eye he saw Barsabas turn unerringly toward the sound, though there was no way he could possibly hear it. "Maybe the Black Arrow knows somewhere. He hadn't been Arena Champion for long and I suspect he's better traveled than I am. Admittedly, that's not saying much."

"He could be dead," LoAmai said. Agronak shook his head.

"Not him. Not with only five of them after him. They were _city_ guards."

"You sound awfully sure of that," No Claws said.

"I can hear him outside," Agronak said dryly. "You'd probably smell him, if it wasn't for all this." The half-Orc's glance encompassed the roomful of dead and returned to the doorway. The Black Arrow leaned suddenly against the doorpost. His clothes were disheveled and bloody. Most of it didn't seem to be his. There was a cruel slash up the inside of his right leg.

"Been busy, have you?" said the Dunmer. "And one of those guards was a five-year man. Been through a gate. Gave me quite a turn when I saw what he was carrying for a good luck piece."

"I doubt it," Agronak said. "Any lavender left, No Claws?"

She extracted a vial from her pocket and tossed it to the Dunmer. He looked at her unreadably as he caught it. Agronak knew exactly what he was thinking. _It's not poison, you dolt, and don't even _think _about insulting her by asking. Not now. _

The Dunmer did not appear to notice Agronak's chill look in his direction, but he didn't comment, either. It's not easy to limp in a casual manner. He managed it somehow. "Thanks. So you want a place to hide out, hm?" He collapsed onto the room's one chair, uncorked the vial, dabbed a few drops on his fingers, and rubbed them into the injury. He watched as it began to close. "I'd head Southeast. Pretty warm down by the border with the Marsh. That should make everybody happy but me. And Imperial trackers won't find you in a swamp."

"They can hire the local Argonians," No Claws predicted.

"Just an idea." The Black Arrow looked at Agronak, smiled slightly, and set the lavender carefully in plain sight on the table beside him.

"Cheer up, No Claws," Agronak said. "If she does come back with reinforcements, we can always let them kill me again. I think everyone else has now. Except you, of course. Want a try? I'd hate for you to feel left out."

No Claws laughed involuntarily. "No, thanks. I don't know when I've ever heard such a gentlemanly offer, though."

"That's why they called him the Grey Prince," said the Black Arrow.

Then he fell over.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Been a while since the last update, between holiday revels and general laziness and the fact that I've just taken on a pretty big mod project to go with my OTHER pretty big mod project. I really want to get this story finished soon. Darn plot threads, refusing to wrap up neatly…_

Chapter 15

The Black Arrow swam back up toward consciousness. His head was pounding in an unpleasantly familiar way, and this time there was no Arena basin to remedy it. Somewhere off in the distance a voice said,

"Is he dead?"

_Dremora?_ The Dunmer wondered muzzily if he had gone to Hell. He'd always known it was just a matter of time.

"Am I?" he said.

"Not you," said a familiar deep voice. The Black Arrow squinted his eyes open on a broad, scarred face. Agronak gro-Malog twitched one corner of his mouth behind his tusks. "Given that your leg has closed up, I'd guess it's just blood loss. Or else you've caught something off one of the zombies. Did you touch any of them?"

"Ugh. No."

Agronak seized one of the Dunmer's shoulders, hauled him up, and plumped him back into the chair. The Black Arrow seized hold of the nearest table and held on until the urge to throw up went away.

"He looks ill to me," Agronak said.

"You, too," the Dunmer said. Agronak shook his head and turned to the Argonian.

"I don't suppose you have any cures?"

"_I _don't," No Claws said. "I don't catch things. I'll bet some of the mages were carrying potions for it, though. They'd be idiots not to, coming to an Ayleid ruin."

"Forget it," the Black Arrow said. "I'm fine."

"Stupid mer," said the Dremora. She extracted a bottle from the belt pouch of the nearest mage and tossed it to No Claws. The Argonian uncorked it and sniffed carefully.

"That should do it," she said. "It will also restore your magicka, if I'm not mistaken, but I don't think that's likely to have much effect on you."

"Not much," said the Dunmer. No Claws got up and handed him the bottle. He took it carefully, but hesitated to drink it. He couldn't help but connect the potion he'd used on his leg and his sudden weakness. On the other hand, what was he going to do? If they wanted him dead, Agronak and the zombie could do that, no problem at all. Agronak gro-Malog was no poisoner. The Black Arrow was entirely sure of that. He was considerably less sanguine about the Argonian girl.

You had to go sometime. The Dunmer finally shrugged, thumbed the cork off, and tossed back the entire vial in one gulp. It had no taste, but it burned familiarly on the way down. He coughed. "That's mandrake, right enough."

"I'm so glad you agree," No Claws said dryly.

"Since we're all accounted for, I think we'd better run through and make sure everyone _else _is," Agronak said. "Then we can worry about cleaning up. LoAmai?"

"I will follow you," she said.

"Barsabas - " No Claws said.

"I think it's probably better if he stands guard here," Agronak said. The dead man wasn't saying anything, but the Black Arrow judged by his suddenly blank face that he thought exactly the same. _He won't want me alone with the girl, and I can't say as I'd blame him._

"Good idea," the Dunmer said. He grinned at the Argonian. She blinked in confusion. "Might not be safe, leaving me with a poor helpless girl like No Claws."

"Nerve," was all Agronak said.

---

The last kynval followed Agronak through the ruin, shooting Ayleids where necessary and keeping an eye (and ear) out for any lingering mages. He seemed less smug than she had expected. But then, it was some measure of her understanding of the difference between his thinking and a Dremora's that she had told him at all. To say such a thing to another kynval would, at the very least, have found her up against the nearest wall, bench or door immediately afterwards. Dremoras are not slow to take advantage of potential benefits to any relationship, and it would have been tantamount to declaring herself a safe target.

The Guard Commander was gone. Agronak stared at the dead mage and the empty floor, tapping a finger on his thigh.

"Probably halfway back to Anvil by now," Agronak said. "Nords have thick skulls."

"You should have killed him," LoAmai said.

"Probably," Agronak said. LoAmai watched him suspiciously, but he didn't smile. "I'm going to go and wash up. I suggest you do the same."

"Here." She detached the chainmail greaves she'd hooked into her belt and handed them to Agronak. "They will serve better than leather."

"Thank you," Agronak said. The kynval was by this time fairly sure of the meaning of this phrase, but she was still not sure what the response was supposed to be.

"I have water in a basin in one of the crypts," she said, which was about three hundred percent more of an explanation than she would normally give, and turned and left. She heard his footsteps retreating quietly toward the top of the ruin.

He came and found her while she was still wiping out the inside of her greaves, clad only in her leather tunic. Blood tends to cling inconveniently to daedric equipment. There is no free groundwater in Oblivion, but LoAmai was more than willing to take advantage of its availability in Nirn. She'd taken her time with her present project, of course. Daedric greaves are hard to remove in a hurry.

There was a basin of fire in one corner. She'd set it up herself.

The kynval glanced up as the half-Orc's shadow fell across the doorway. She set down the greaves and dropped the rag into the basin.

"The horses are all gone," he said. "I guess the Commander stole ours. I've already talked to the others."

"I am glad to hear it," LoAmai said. "Otherwise I would have to suppose you had elected to wait until all of the Ayleids came back and kill them again." She folded her arms and waited for him to realize the obvious.

He looked at her in the dim room for a while. She watched the lump in his throat bob once as he swallowed. Then he said,

"I observe that you're not wearing any greaves."

"Your grasp of the obvious never ceases to amaze me, Orc of Nirn."

Agronak came further into the room. He was wearing the chainmail greaves and a different shirt, but LoAmai saw no serious logistical problems. "I further observe that you're not trying to kill me for looking at you without them on," Agronak said.

"That is correct."

"The fact that you're still wearing a dagger is not reassuring."

"You are welcome to retain your weapons, Agronak."

"Coming from you, I suspect that's quite a concession," Agronak said.

"Indeed."

"I hope I'm going about this the right way," Agronak said, and then he stepped forward and folded her in arms as hard as iron and nearly as warm. LoAmai wrapped her arms around him and crushed him against a chest not much softer than his own.

There was a pause.

"Now what?" Agronak said.

LoAmai stared at his blue eyes from a distance of less than an inch away. The tips of his tusks dug into her cheeks. She could see every tiny detail of every scar. There were still less than the ideal – after all, he was very young as the Kyn counted it – but their fierce and fearful symmetry was still very beautiful.

"If you don't know what comes next, I have no intention of telling you," she said.

Agronak rolled his eyes. "Then why are we just standing _mmmf._"

It is not impossible to kiss an Orc. It just takes a certain amount of dexterity.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"So," No Claws said. "I suppose we should do something about all these dead people…"

"The Dremora pretty well got everything that's worth anything," said the Black Arrow.

"I was thinking more about getting them out of here," No Claws said.

The Black Arrow leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "You're the mage, girl. I can't be dragging things around."

"You know," No Claws said thoughtfully. The Dunmer detected no change in the tone of her voice, but Barsabas head turned slowly to look at the Black Arrow. His eyes were rheumy and very, very cold. "One of the things I like best about Agronak gro-Malog is that he never calls me that."

"What? Mage?"

"Girl," No Claws said.

The Black Arrow raised his eyebrows. "Well, you are, aren't you? I've been around plenty lizard-folk, and I'll eat my hat if you're more'n eighteen."

"Seventeen," No Claws said. "And how old are _you?"_

"Don't know," the Dunmer said. "Forgot my birthday, if I ever knew it. Best count is about twenty-three."

"And how many years were you a boy?" No Claws said.

The Dunmer snorted. "Never." He looked at the Argonian as the thought finally caught up to the words. There were no scars on her hands, no missing scales with the leathery skin bare underneath. _She's never had to do a day's work and she's never fought with her hands_. "Don't even think it, girl. You and me, we're nothing alike."

"I'd like to hope not," No Claws said. Her tail twitched faintly as she stood up. "Come on, Barsabas, let's move them out."

The zombie looked down at her and slowly shook his head.

"Fine," she said irritably. "You move them, and I'll watch."

Barsabas hoisted a corpse onto each shoulder and started out the door. The Argonian went slowly after him, visibly making an effort not to stumble. The Black Arrow swore quietly, but he got up and seized a dead mage by the mailed collar. He was strong, but strong for an undernourished Dunmer is nowhere near the same as, say, strong for a six-and-a-half- foot Undead._ I'm faster than he is, _the Black Arrow told himself as he followed the zombie down the hall.

_Maybe not by much, _he conceded glumly. That was always the trouble, fighting zombies in the Arena. If their muscles weren't rotted through, they could do things no living thing could do, because nothing ever hurt and there was nothing to stop them straining the ligaments until they tore. Normally they were hobbled enough by physical decay that they were easy to avoid. That was quite obviously not a problem Barsabas had to worry about.

_I wonder where Agronak's got to._

The question answered itself when he was on the way back inside (Divines, but it was cold out). He heard a faint and distant growling from a side hall. It might have been two people, or it might just be the Dremora. The Black Arrow looked at the other two, but both had ears that were less than mer. They didn't seem to have heard it. The Dunmer crept quietly over to the chamber door and peered inside.

He averted his eyes quickly, grinning. He was no prude, but there were things a mer just didn't want to see. _Gods. Agronak? Agronak and a _Dremora?

The Grey Prince had never been much of a hand with the ladies. He was quiet and polite, and that alone would've got him a few partners if he'd been of a mind not to sleep alone, but he'd never shown much interest. The Black Arrow had wondered why at first. That was back before he snuggled up to a cute little mer he'd met in the Bloodworks, and then met her bright and early out on the sand. You didn't want to sleep with someone you might have to kill later. Not unless you were really sick. And other opportunities were pretty scarce in the Arena.

Of course, going at it with a Dremora was pretty sick, too, but the Dunmer figured that was none of his business. He hurried to catch up to the others. There were, by his count, over a dozen bodies scattered around (more, if you counted pieces). It was going to take a few trips to get them all outside, and then it was going to be a very cold and uncomfortable wash in the frozen pond for him. _At least I'm alive. That's something._

---

Some time later, No Claws lay curled up on the slab in her now-empty room. She'd thrown the last of her dried flowers into the manifold fires, and the fragrance had quickly cleared away the stink. She was exhausted, but she couldn't have slept for love or money. Barsabas stood in the doorway again. She hadn't had to ask him to leave her alone. She almost never did. The Black Arrow had wandered off on his own, muttering about having a cold bath.

_I don't know whether that woman will ever come back, _No Claws thought_. I don't know what will happen to me and Barsabas. I don't even know what I really am, apparently. _

_I have to talk to Ezri again._

She groaned slightly as she sat up again, reaching for her satchel of welkynd stones. It was much lighter than it had been three hours ago. Barsabas moved his head, but he didn't turn around.

No Claws used another welkynd stone. The mana fizzed, and the light died out.

"_Ezri."_

The Breton's shape whirled out of the air and into solid form. Well, nearly solid.

"Still alive?" he said. "Tsk. You'll be old as I am in a week, if you keep that up. Or perhaps you won't. You are not like other necromancers."

"No," No Claws said. "But apparently I don't know just how much."

"You know you are a No Claws," Ezri Verrault said. "You must therefore have read the Book of Grey Seeing."

"Part of it," No Claws said. "Not enough. The Breton said she'll bring it to me, but I doubt she will."

"One wonders," Verrault said. Something like steam rose from his transparent eyes. "Are you more dangerous ignorant, or knowing? The choice is not, of course, mine. I am your thrall. If you ask the question of me, I must answer it."

"I know I was born to be a dead-raiser," No Claws said. "What else is there?"

"There have been few clawless-born," said Ezri Verrault. "Nearly all have chosen to serve the princes of Oblivion, each in service to some particular demon. There are those who surmise a clawless one was complicit in the opening of the first Oblivion gates for Mehrunes Dagon. Mankar Camoran was powerful, but it is unlikely he could have opened the first gate alone. Of course, if there was a clawless-born involved, he or she must have burnt up in the attempt. I do not, I assume, have to suggest to you how seriously Archmage Traven is inclined to take the possibility of another such existing already."

"No," No Claws said bitterly. "Not if someone like me almost brought about the end of the world as we know it. And all this time I thought you just wanted to kill me because I was a necromancer..."

"I did," Ezri Verrault said. "Or at least, that would have been enough. Traven's concerns were not mine. _My _world ended three years ago in Kvatch."

No Claws raised her head. "You were at Kvatch?"

"Oh, yes." Ezri Verrault thinned his lips. One hand unconsciously fingered the hilt of his sword. "A brief and bitter tale. And much as I hate to ask anything at all of one from whom I expect no pity, I ask –" He gritted his teeth. "I _plead_ that you will not make me relate it."

"Say what you like, or nothing. You've dealt honestly with me," No Claws said.

"I have no choice," the ghost pointed out.

No Claws shrugged. "I can tell when I make you do things, and when you do them on your own. The harder you struggle, the more it costs me to keep you here."

The Breton came closer. She could see each solid footfall of his heavy boots under the hem of his robe, but his steps were utterly silent. "I have little belief in your intelligence, but I suspect even you would not deliberately give me the means to kill you by inches. You are lying."

No Claws was too tired to laugh, but she managed one _ha. _"It works both ways, you know." She looked up at the phantom of Ezri Verrault. He was close now, and she could feel the cold radiating from him. "I can't lie to my own creature. You'd be able to tell."

"Always," Barsabas said from the doorway. Ezri Verrault glanced that way with a faint sneer.

"And what are you? You have little mind, and your will belongs to her. She has no reason to deceive you."

"Perhaps that's true," Barsabas said calmly. "But she doesn't need to lie to you, either. You know what will happen if she dies."

"Back to the abyss," Ezri Verrault hissed, almost below the level of hearing.

"Ezri," No Claws said. "What does that sword blade say?"

The ghost's head twitched back around to look at her. "I do not wish to tell you," he said pointedly. No Claws grinned.

"Then don't. I was just curious."

Verrault looked at her unreadably, and then the magicka ran out and he disappeared. No Claws sighed and lay back down.

Two seconds later, she was asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: This is actually longer than the original Chapter 17. I apologize for any confusion._

Chapter 17

Agronak slept outside the ruin that night. Well, _slept _probably wasn't the right word, but he still didn't care to think of it as being dead for eight hours at a time. He lay down on the frozen ground as LoAmai stood by the brazier, and then he just sort of went away for a while.

When he came back the sun was coming up, stinging his frozen eyelashes. Agronak rolled to his feet, swearing at his stiff limbs, and staggered over to stand in front of the fire. No Claws might miss the horses, but he definitely would not.

The Dremora watched him without speaking. Her expression was suddenly hard to read. _And I thought things were going so well, after yesterday... _Looking at her in the cold morning made him want to hold her again, if only to chase the chill away, but her posture was uninviting. _Not to mention she's got the greaves back on again._

"Anything happen during the night?" he said.

"No."

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Yes, it is," Agronak said. "What is it?"

LoAmai's eyes flickered between the painful sunrise and the blinding flame of the brazier and finally returned to Agronak's face. "You are nothing like a Dremora," she said.

"Yes," Agronak said, trying to ignore the sinking in his gut.

"But I don't want anyone else. And I do not want to die."

Agronak rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not that again. Love isn't a disease. It's not going to kill you."

LoAmai folded her arms. "Yes, it will. It always does."

"Yes, but you keep talking about it as if it were one-sided," Agronak said. "Of course it could be fatal if you were pinned to someone who didn't care what happened to you, and I have no trouble picturing that happening if you got overly attached to a demon. But under present circumstances, I'd say that's _my_ problem to worry about, not yours."

There weren't many people he would talk to that way. Probably none, except for her. But LoAmai wasn't like other people. _Not even other daedra. _The cold and direct intelligence behind the fiery eyes latched onto what he was saying the instant the words were out of his mouth. Someone else might have stammered, "You mean - ?" or "You really - ?" LoAmai just grabbed him by the shirt front and kissed him again.

No other woman in Tamriel had lips hot enough to burn him. He was still half-vampire. In the arms of a woman of softer flesh, whose pulse was slower and louder than was the Dremora's, he might have suffered a confusion of his appetites. There was no question of that in the arms of a demon. It would be romantic to say he lost all track of his surroundings, but that wasn't quite true. He heard the hoofbeats a second before she did. He let go and reached for his sword, and then LoAmai heard it, too. She unslung her bow speedily and raised a hand to shade her eyes, staring at the horizon.

"I cannot see it," she said.

"Me, neither," Agronak said. "Let's get out of sight before they get any closer."

He ran back behind the ruin's doorwell and scaled the frigid stone. LoAmai came close behind him.

He settled belly-down on the roof, grimacing at the cold, and squinted into the wan daylight. Any sunlight whatever tended to hurt his eyes, and he hated to even think what it was going to be like in summer. _Let's get there first._

Agronak became aware of a second set of hoofbeats at just about the same time he caught sight of the first horse. The rider was smallish and staying low to the beast's neck, and a moment later he knew why. An arrow zipped past and pinged off the front wall of the ruin. LoAmai swore in her own tongue as she nocked an arrow of her own. Agronak nodded in grim sympathy; she could easily hit someone at the range of the second rider – but not in full daylight.

It never occurred to him that the first rider might be hostile. Word of what had happened here would surely have traveled back to Bravil by now. No one in their right mind would come here alone and looking for trouble.

"I'll bet it's No Claws's Breton," Agronak said, and shouted, "Get inside!" as the horse thundered up to the half-paved courtyard in front of the door. The armored rider urged the horse behind the doorwell, swung down, and stood leaning against the back of the stone. Agronak started to speak again, and then he saw the arrow sticking out of the steel cuirass right around the sixth or seventh rib. "Stendarr. Right, stay right there, then."

He could see the other horse now, a big chestnut with an ebony-armored Imperial on its back. The man must have strong legs, because he was leaning sideways with a steel shortbow in both hands. His helmet shadowed his face as he aimed toward the sound of Agronak's voice. The Grey Prince ducked as the shaft hissed over his head.

LoAmai shot the horse in the eye. It jerked sideways, and the heavily armored rider slid out of the saddle and rolled in the dead grass. Agronak vaulted down off the ruin and bounced over the dead horse the second his feet hit the ground.

He had the ebony sword at the Imperial's throat before he had a chance to draw.

"What do you want here?" he said.

"The woman is a traitor," panted the Imperial. "She stole from Archmage Traven himself. She's consorted with necromancers. She has to die."

"I don't think we're going to allow that," Agronak said, and then the man came up with the dagger he'd been hiding and tried to stab him in the leg. Agronak pinned the man's wrist to the ground with one foot and stabbed at the opening between cuirass and helm. There was a sudden gout of blood. The Imperial only had time to jerk once or twice before he bled out. Agronak averted his eyes quickly from the blood, but there was no avoiding the smell. He forcibly gathered his thoughts and ran back to see about the woman.

She sat against the back of the doorwell, an empty potion bottle in one hand as she raised the other. The blue helix of a healing spell spun up around her. She'd managed to remove both the arrow and her cuirass, and only a thin line of gore leaked from her torn shirt. Her face was very pale even for a Breton, and her lips were turning blue.

A heavy book with a grey cover lay on the ground beside her, partly hidden by the discarded steel cuirass.

"She is dying," LoAmai said, and went to examine the dead horse.

"Were you hit more than once?" Agronak said.

"Poisoned," the woman said succinctly. She healed herself again without discernible effect. "Can't keep up with the stuff." She squinted at Agronak as if it were dark instead of bright outside. "You're Agronak gro-Malog?"

"Yes," Agronak said. "Wait, I'll take you inside. We have some potions and things - "

"No time," the woman said. "Give the book to the Defender. Tell her to read the notes first." Her hand fell to her side as she gasped. "Gngh. Hurts... I'll tell her more later... Divines forgive m..." She choked. Her chest heaved once, and then her jaw went slack. Agronak watched her eyes glaze over.

He hadn't realized he could hear her heart beating, but he noticed when it stopped. "Bleeding Akatosh," he said quietly. He reached out and closed the woman's eyes. "Looks like you kept your word after all." _I don't even know what her name was._

LoAmai's shadow fell across the dead woman. "These are good arrows," she said.

"It's not as if you need any more," Agronak said.

"It is not possible to have too many, Agronak gro-Malog."

"Get that book, will you?" Agronak picked up the dead Breton gently and carried her into the ruin. LoAmai came behind him with the grey book in hand. He descended the stairs without difficulty. A Breton in half a suit of steel armor is still infinitely lighter than a Dremora in half a suit of daedric.

He heard a soft footstep as he stepped into the main hall. "Haven't seen you for a while," Agronak said, but didn't check his pace. The Black Arrow fell in beside him. "Been busy harassing No Claws?"

"If there's been any harassing, it wasn't me," The Dunmer said. "Besides, she's still asleep. No big surprise, after the day we had yesterday. 'S going on?"

"This battlemage came to bring her a book," Agronak said. "Somebody came after her. Shot her with a poisoned arrow."

"He'd be the reason there's blood on you, then?"

Agronak shrugged impatiently. "His, not mine."

"I'm going to assume you know she's dead," the Dunmer said. "What with you being half-vampire and all."

"Thanks for the reminder, and yes, I did notice that."

"So why bring her in here?" the Black Arrow said reasonably.

"Because she said she wanted to talk to No Claws, and I suspect we have no time to waste." He saw Barsabas standing in the doorway up ahead. The zombie watched blankly as they approached. "Is No Claws still asleep?"

"Yes," Barsabas said. He looked at the battlemage. "That one was here before."

"She brought a book," Agronak said. Barsabas surprised him by turning back into the room without a word and going to touch No Claws' shoulder. She stirred under the horse blanket and made a protesting noise.

"They brought the book," Barsabas said. The Argonian sat up, rubbing the end of her nose as she squinted at them. She blinked rapidly as she saw what Agronak was carrying. No Claws scooted hastily off the slab and swept the blanket onto a chair.

"Put her here," she said.

"She's dead," Agronak said. "They sent someone after her. He shot her before we got him."

"Mara. I was afraid of something like that." No Claws turned to the table and began rummaging among the scraps of herb and old books.

"She said she wanted to talk to you," Agronak said. "I got the impression she meant, er, afterwards."

"Put her down there," No Claws said over her shoulder.

"Here is the book," said LoAmai. The Argonian waved an impatient hand. LoAmai raised her eyebrows and set the volume on the table as Agronak laid the dead woman on the slab.

"Barsabas," No Claws said. "Get me one of the cures and a healing potion. How long has she been dead, Agronak?"

"Less than five minutes," Agronak said.

"Oh, no," said the Black Arrow. "Don't tell me you'll be dragging this one back, too."

"It's what she wanted," Agronak said. "No Claws, she said you should read her notes in the book first."

"Thank you," No Claws said. She snatched up the volume and paged it open hurriedly. A piece of notepaper fell out. She fumbled it, but Barsabas caught it out of the air and handed it to her. She scanned it quickly. "Yes, that will work. She even remembered to write her name. Gods, I wish I'd known this before. Can someone lend me a sharp knife?"

"Take mine," Agronak said. He held out his steel knife, butt first. Barsabas took it from him and set it beside the two potion bottles on the slab.

"You sure that's what she wanted?" the Dunmer said. He was frowning at the body, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"Yes," Agronak said, sparing him a glance. "It's what she said."

"If it makes you feel better, you can't stop me," No Claws said.

The Dunmer looked up at Barsabas, who was now watching him very closely. "Yeah," he said. "I see that."

No Claws carried a shriveled gray leaf back to the slab as she skimmed the notes again. "Wormwood. She must be a long-thinking woman, she even stuck the leaf into the book..."

"No Claws," Barsabas said. His voice was very flat, but Agronak by now knew him well enough to recognize the intimation of dread. "Are we going outside again?"

"No, thank the Divines, nothing like that. I don't know where she found this written down, and it can't have been easy to find, but it's going to make things a lot easier." She patted Barsabas on the shoulder without looking around. "Don't worry."

"I'd like to know how she got back here so fast," Agronak said. "She left here yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Must've ridden all night," the Black Arrow said. "Don't see how the one with the arrows didn't catch up sooner."

"I'm no expert, but her horse didn't look that tired," Agronak said. "He probably followed her from Bravil when she changed mounts."

"She must have fortified its speed, even then," No Claws said. "We're a long way from the Imperial City." To Agronak's relief, she was using the dagger to cut away the shirt around the woman's injury. No Claws looked critically at the small scratch, then took up the cure potion and poured it over the cut. It hissed and bubbled as it came into contact with the blood.

"What are you curing her of?" Agronak said. "Given that she's dead?"

"It'll neutralize the poison, even in a corpse," No Claws said. "Hopefully destroy anything they've put on the arrow to stop me bringing her back. And I don't want whatever it is in _my _blood, thanks very much. Even Argonians are only so resistant to poison."

Agronak was about to ask what she meant by that when she picked up the knife and slashed her left wrist.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"What in every level of Hell?" said the Black Arrow. No Claws grimaced slightly at the pain as she set the knife aside again. She'd heard that it didn't hurt to be cut with a very sharp knife, but apparently that wasn't true. _Chalk it up to experience._ Barsabas held the healing potion ready, waiting.

"It's in the notes," No Claws said, and laid her cut wrist atop the dead Breton's small wound. She hadn't cut herself deeply, but the trickle of blood was very steady. "I've always known there had to be a price when you bring somebody back. I went into the dark after Barsabas and Ezri, which isn't a normal necromantic rite, but it worked. Apparently a more usual procedure is to use blood from an available living victim. A real necromancer never pays the price himself. It isn't done."

"Then what are you doing?" said Agronak gro-Malog. He seemed to be dealing with the sight of blood just fine, but a quick glance revealed that he was looking resolutely at her face.

"You've seen the kind of results _real _necromancers get," No Claws said quietly. "If I'd taken from somebody else to raise Barsabas, he'd never have been bound close enough to me to summon himself to where I am. If I'd used stolen pain to raise Ezri, I wouldn't be able to touch him. He would be weaker, and mute." She paused for a moment, concentrating on holding her hand steady, and then looked at the notes again. The verses the dead Breton had written down were simpler than she'd expected, and not very long:

"_Into the darkness you were sent,_

_And out of the dark I call you now._

_Herewith you are denied the light._

_Rise unliving._

_Walk undying."_

There was a soft hiss and a pale shimmer in the air above the Breton as No Claws read the words, and the cut in her hand tingled. She frowned at the last line, which said: _Serve until your flesh is dust. _She had no way of knowing what the consequences of changing the rite would be, but she did know she wasn't going to say _that. _Not over someone who had been willing to die to bring her the book.

"_Arkay will refuse what belongs to me_," No Claws said. _"Rise, Nissa Trajian." _There was no flash of light, no spark nor sound, but suddenly the air was so dense with magicka that it was hard to breathe. Nissa Trajian's hand shot up and seized No Claws's wrist in a steely grip, wringing from her a gasp. The dead woman opened her eyes. They were green and opaque, as slick as marbles.

"Ow," No Claws said. Barsabas's hand reached into her view and pried Nissa's fingers off. The corpse stared unseeing at the ceiling. She didn't move. No Claws accepted the healing potion and doused the cut on her hand. The magicka had faded before the wound even healed. "I thought that would work."

Then Nissa Trajian jerked, curled in on herself, and dove off the slab so fast she knocked No Claws flat. The potion bottle clattered against a wall. A cold hand seized the back of No Claws's robe and hauled her backwards, and then Barsabas was in front of her and she was staring between his black-clad calves.

She hadn't seen anyone draw weapons, but everyone but Barsabas seemed to be holding one. The dead woman huddled in the middle of the floor, down on her knees with her arms tight around herself. Her head was bowed so that her pale hair hung over her face, but No Claws heard a noise like a whimper.

"Put them away," No Claws said. She stood up slowly. "She's not going to hurt anyone."

"I'm keeping mine, thanks," said the Black Arrow. "Seen what your creatures can do."

No Claws started around Barsabas. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Not yet," he said. "Please. I think I remember this part…"

No Claws looked up at him. He looked back with wrinkled brows, apprehensive of her disapproval, but holding his ground. "All right," she said.

"Pain," Nissa Trajian whispered. Her voice was different, a thinner and more ragged version of the usual Breton accent. "There wasn't supposed to be pain…" It looks very odd to see a person shaking when they do not breathe, but that was exactly what the woman was doing.

She looked up suddenly as Agronak gro-Malog sheathed his sword.

"You," she said. "Did you…? No. No, you tried to help. And _she _was there, but… She didn't kill me…" Nissa Trajian made a noise, deep in her throat, and froze. No Claws winced in sympathy as she watched the entire weight of memory land all at once. _That _hadn't happened with Barsabas. He'd been confused for a long time about what had happened to him, at least while he was summoned and couldn't think straight. (Even then, when he was least certain and most angry, he'd never tried to hurt her.)

Nissa Trajian had not been summoned. Hers was not a soul cut free and tethered again by the use of spells. She'd never really had time to fully leave her body. And, while living on magicka rather than functional gray matter might mean a certain loss of intelligence for most people, a magus who had been long accustomed to the use of magicka should breathe in the power-laden atmosphere of the ruin with immediate ease. There should be no long process of learning to find and use the mana for a Breton.

Of course, there shouldn't be pain, either.

"Nissa?" No Claws said. She tugged at Barsabas's arm. He lowered it without demur. Nissa Trajian twitched at the sound of a voice, and then she turned her opaque eyes on the Argonian. No Claws stepped forward and knelt, so that they were on eye level (Nissa was tall for a Breton, and No Claws was rather short for her race). "What hurts?"

"Everything," Nissa said. She looked down at the small hole in her belly, now daubed around with red blood. Something was oozing from the puncture. It was green. _The potion didn't work, _No Claws thought, quashing another wince._ And she can't die, because she's already dead. That must be excruciating._

"I'm sorry," No Claws said lamely. "I don't think there's anything I can do."

Nissa shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said. "I'll do what I came here to do."

"Was it to do with the book?" No Claws said.

"The book. Yes." The Undead's flat green eyes focused abruptly on No Claws' face. "You have to read it. You'll read it, yes? You are the Defender. Not the evil one. Not the world-ender."

"I'll read it," No Claws said.

"Good," Nissa Trajian said. "Beware of the mages. They're little afraid of the law." She nodded firmly, jerked onto her feet like a badly-used puppet, and hurled herself into the nearest brazier. At least, that was what she tried to do. Barsabas snagged her around the waist while No Claws was still trying to get up. Nissa struggled, but he pinned her arms to her sides and held her at arms' length.

"Nissa," No Claws said. "Be still."

The woman stopped struggling at once, compelled by the voice that had raised her. She did not look at No Claws. "Let me go."

"You said before that you wanted to talk to me," No Claws said. "It had to be more than just that."

"I had planned to stay," Nissa said. "To help you as best I could. I can't do that. Not like this. I can't bear it."

"Who's going to help, if you don't?" No Claws said. "I can't keep Ezri long enough to make him tell me what I need to know. What about Tamriel? I don't _want _to become something evil, but how can I avoid it if I don't know how it's going to happen? Let go, Barsabas."

He let go of Nissa's arms. The woman stared at the floor, obviously fighting with herself. At last she sighed – a startling thing, in an unbreathing person – and raised both hands to her chest. No Claws was more than a little surprised to see the helix of magicka spiral up around Nissa's shoulders. The blood flaked from around her wound and turned to dust as the hole closed.

"Can zombies do that?" said Agronak gro-Malog. No Claws heard the soft stretching noise as LoAmai, standing beside him, finally lowered her bow.

"Not that Iever saw," said the Black Arrow. _He _was still holding his sword.

"_I_ can't," Barsabas said.

"No," Nissa Trajian said. "But zombies don't feel pain, either. And that has not left me. I can't cure it."

No Claws laid a careful hand on the woman's shoulder. The fabric was warm to the touch. Nissa had been very close to the fire. "You're too solid for a ghost," No Claws said. "Let's see your hand." Nissa slowly raised her right hand, palm outwards. The firelight shone through it. Green veins glowed faintly inside.

"The dead man bleeds black," Agronak said. "I remember that."

Nissa Trajian turned to look at No Claws. Her eyes were hard to read now, but her general cast of feature was faintly accusing. "You changed the rite," she said.

"You can put your hand down," No Claws said. She let go of Nissa's shoulder and turned to begin tidying away the objects on the slab.

"You _changed _the _rite_," Nissa said.

"It wasn't a rite for summoning. I couldn't just let you rot," No Claws said. "Just stumble around until you fell apart. I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy. I wouldn't even do it to Ezri Verrault."

"You think this is better?" Nissa Trajian said. "Damned to Undeath _and _eternal pain?"

No Claws stopped what she was doing and turned back to Nissa. "The pain might not be permanent," she said, trying to sound reassuring instead of guilty. "You're not like anything else. There's no way to know."

"Godsdamned arrogant child," Nissa Trajian muttered. "That's why Verrault hates you so, isn't it? I ought to have realized."

"Little late for it now," said the Black Arrow. No Claws shot him a look.

"Yes, you caught on right away, didn't you," she said. "Thank you so very much. Were you planning to stab Nissa a few times? I'm sure she'll feel _much _better then."

"Would it kill me?" Nissa Trajian said hopefully.

"_No,_" said No Claws.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Well, then," Agronak gro-Malog said, into a general unhappy silence. "I guess you've got some reading to do, No Claws. I'll just be disposing of the bodies if you need me."

"Thanks," No Claws said glumly.

_I could just about feel sorry for her, _Agronak thought. _The only one who really sympathizes with her is Barsabas, and nobody quite knows if he can help it._

"Took us long enough to haul the other ones out," said the Black Arrow. "Where were you, anyway?"

Agronak became aware that he was blushing again. The Dunmer was looking slightly smug. "Nowhere," Agronak said, since LoAmai didn't appear about to answer. "Ahem. Excuse me."

"You should have let me kill him," LoAmai said, when they were out in the hallway.

"He can still hear you," Agronak pointed out.

"I do not care. You were wrong to let the Argonian live. You are wrong about this Dunmer also."

"I thought you'd changed your mind about No Claws," Agronak said.

LoAmai sniffed as they walked out into the main hall. "She is more trouble than she is worth. It was not the guardsman who came for you that killed you. It was the mage who came for _her_."

"They're bound to give up sooner or later," Agronak said. "They're going to run out of suicidal battlemages, for one thing. And I really doubt the Bravil City Watch will be back here again, unless that commander is even stupider than I think he is."

There was a very pointed silence from the other party in the discussion. Agronak sighed.

"Maybe we should think about stocking up some food in here, then," he said. "For the other two."

"Perhaps if we are fortunate, it will snow heavily," said LoAmai.

"Perhaps," Agronak said.

"And perhaps tomorrow Lord Dagon will rise again and destroy this entire plane." LoAmai said flatly.

"Yeah," Agronak said. "Personally, I'm hoping for the snow. You know what I would do, if I were that Commander?"

"I do not." She sounded slightly interested, which was about the best reaction he'd ever gotten to a question like that one.

"I'd hire mercenaries. He can use the money he'll save on salaries, since we've killed a good number of his men. That plus the Imperial bounty ought to make us a big enough target to attract quite a few. Assuming he's the kind to take things personally, that is."

Agronak was, at heart, a forthright soul. This is probably why he got it so completely wrong.

---

"Tsk," said a silky voice. "It seems someone has upset a few people."

No one heard him. There was no one nearby. This was probably just as well. Once or twice someone had taken exception to his talking to himself, and that annoyed him. Negrin Ravenclaw tugged his dark hood more firmly down over his face, though he stood in the shadow of one of Bravil's rickety buildings. It was a specialty item, that hood, and it wouldn't do to have it sliding off in daylight. No, indeed.

He could survive a few moments' sunlight. He had done it before, in fact. And the painful sunburn would heal, and that fairly quickly. Negrin was more concerned that someone might recognize him and put him to the trouble of killing them. He still wasn't quite sure of his present standing in the only guild he'd ever joined, since he'd been attacked by that noisy ghost as he rested a couple of days previously. (He generally didn't sleep during the night.)

Of course, even if he _was _back in the Brotherhood, there was nothing to say he couldn't do a little freelancing on the side. And the parchment notice before which he stood did say stealth was called for. Negrin smiled, showing his pointed canines. He'd been an Imperial, back before he took to calling himself by his present sobriquet, but he'd been stealthy for his race even then.

It did not trouble him particularly that one man was now called for when twenty men had already failed. (The notice was surprisingly honest on that point.) Nor was he against working for the law, when other work was lacking.

"And if the truth be told, I'm rather curious," Negrin said aloud. "So very seldom does one see a vampire Orc. For that matter, I don't know that I've ever killed a Dremora." He'd been so _busy _while the gates were open. One never had time to amuse oneself, it seemed.

"I suppose I might as well take advantage of the opportunity," mused Negrin Ravenclaw.

---

No Claws sat crosslegged on one end of her slab and read from the book. She'd made it about halfway through before, and she'd only just found her place again:

_...They have been called sometimes the Gray, because they are invariably bearers of that hue which is least common among Argonian races, but it is not the name their people give them. The Argonians, when they speak of it at all, say simply _No Claws. _It is a term of no respect, a denial of naming rather than a title, and those few who are even permitted to grow up in the Marsh are denied the naming and the Hist..._

"_That's _no surprise," No Claws muttered. She fingered the gray and green scales on her muzzle as she read on.Barsabas stood beside her and watched the other two with customary hostile blankness. Nissa Trajian paced back and forth with faltering steps, as if movement could distract her from the pain. The Black Arrow, still present for reasons best understood by himself, sat in the room's one chair and polished his steel sword with a rag.

No Claws sat up straighter as she came to something she had definitely _not _read before.

_...Her death was regrettable, but since the signs that she was attempting to raise an army of the dead were unmistakable, no blame could possibly be laid. Besides, every evidence suggested she was torn to bits by her own creatures, grown too fierce and too numerous for her to control. That is the tale that is told, and this author has no reason to doubt it. _

_There are other tales told of a very different man who bore the name of No Claws. He was sometimes known by another title as well:_

_The Defender of the Dead._

Nissa had used that phrase before. No Claws read on quickly, tail twitching across the rough stone behind her. The author seemed a little skeptical of this unknown Argonian's existence, but then, the author had been a Guild mage.

_His claim was that he sought out only those souls who had the need or the desire to return to this plane, who had no other recourse but reanimation or an endless wandering in the void, cast out even from Oblivion itself. Like other No Claws before him, he was a conjurer of no mean skill, and his revenants were not like the revenants raised by others..._

No Claws smiled slightly. Wasn't _that _the truth.

_There are even whispers that he loved a ghost. The only source is his own writing, which is very difficult to read and casts doubts upon his sanity. It is certain that no one will be able to ask him, for he was killed in a skirmish with a rival necromancer. And, whatever the disposition of such a soul upon death might be, no one has ever successfully communicated posthumously with a No Claws._

"Thank the Divines for small favors," No Claws said. "I suppose turnabout would be fair play."

"What's that?" said the Black Arrow, glancing up.

"Oh, it says no one's ever managed to conjure a dead No Claws," said No Claws.

"Guess that's no surprise," said the Dunmer. "You're that good at dragging things back across the divide, you probably do all right at keeping yourself on one side of it."

"I try," No Claws said. She looked up at Barsabas. "If I should end up wandering the void, at least I'll have plenty of company."

"No, you won't," Barsabas said firmly. "Because that's not going to happen."

No Claws hefted the book. "If there's one thing that's certain here, it's that I shouldn't look forward to a very long life. The oldest one this book talks about only made it to about fifty before... Hm... It _says _that other necromancers killed him, but it has sort of a suspicious ring to it."

"It does now, for sure," said the Black Arrow. "What d'you say to that, lady?" he asked Nissa Trajian. She did not pause in her restless circuit of the room.

"I doubt seriously whether other necromancers would bother. He would not have impinged upon their areas of interest."

"I don't see what any of this has to do with me," No Claws said. "From what this says, he was crazy. It's not as if anyone else ever used the title. He might have made it up."

"Keep reading," Nissa said.

"Right."

No Claws flipped the page and went on.

_One other Argonian called herself the Defender of the Dead, and claimed she had been shown a sign that proved she had been chosen by the wandering departed as their advocate in the plane of Nirn. She seems to have been of a more staid and diplomatic turn of mind than her predecessor, but her activities were not tolerated by her closest neighbors and she was finally burned alive with her creatures in the cave in which she lived._

"Burned alive in a _cave_?" No Claws said. "Were fireballs involved in this process, by any chance?"

"Very possibly," Nissa Trajian said. She paused by the slab as she tapped a fingernail against her teeth. Barsabas watched her closely, but he made no sound. _Promising. He kept growling at Agronak for a long time._

"I haven't seen any sign," No Claws said. "Unless it's you."

"No," Nissa Trajian said. "I've done other researches, in the little time I had. I found the diary, for one, but I'm afraid I had to leave the library rather abruptly and I couldn't take it with me." She waved a hand in a gesture that was almost apologetic, as if her untimely flight and subsequent death had been an inconvenience. "It would be something clear and definite. In fact, I believe you've already seen it."

"You'd think I would have noticed," No Claws said.

"Your education has been neglected," Nissa Trajian said. "Summon Ezri Verrault again."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Less than an hour, and you're already starting to sound like Ezri," No Claws said to Nissa. "No other necromancer in the entire world has this much trouble. Barsabas, did you see where I put those welkynd stones?"

Barsabas said nothing. A muscle in his white temple twitched, symptomatic of the fact that he couldn't lie to her and wasn't willing to tell the truth. No Claws rolled her eyes. "I rest my case."

"That's no way to talk," said the Black Arrow. No Claws had nearly forgotten he was there. "'Specially when it's your own fault. Or is your memory that short, girl?"

No Claws paused in her rummaging through the objects on the table and straightened up. She clenched her long jaw, narrowly missing biting her tongue. Given the typical Argonian dentition, this would have been no laughing matter. She breathed deeply. "Stop calling me that."

The Dunmer's mocking grin put No Claws' tongue back in immediate peril of being severed. "Why? You're acting like one."

"No, I'mnot. What am I supposed to do, exactly? Order both of them never to disagree with me? This is the part where I'm trying _not _to be evil, remember?"

"Good," said the Black Arrow. His tone was not remotely sympathetic. "Then shut up and lie in the bed you made. The dead man's your whipping boy often enough as it is."

"My – you - " No Claws' limited grasp of profanity failed her. She turned her back on him abruptly, tail slapping at her ankles. "You don't know what you're talking about, mer."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Barsabas suddenly become very still. Behind him, Nissa Trajian stood with her arms tightly folded. She stared at the stone floor in front of her feet.

"Got two good eyes," the Dunmer said. "You better watch that temper, girl. Somebody's liable to get hurt."

No Claws turned slowly back to face him. He still slouched in his chair, idly tapping the flat of his sword against one leather-clad calf. "And you think it might be you?" No Claws said.

The Dunmer stood up slowly. "Not a bad chance for you, is it?" He was still smiling, or at least baring his teeth. "We're all alone. Just me and you and the things you've made. You're pretty useless, and _she _don't hardly know where she is, but - " He cocked a black eyebrow at Barsabas. "Even I don't know if I'm faster'n the dead man. You could always tell Agronak I tried to jump you. Was that your plan, girl?"

"_Useless_?" No Claws said. She was having a hard time making her voice work. It came out as a guttural hiss. She clenched her shaking hands at her sides.

"Un huh," said the Dunmer. "What've you ever done for anybody else but y - "

Barsabas took two quick steps, seized the mer by the collar, and slammed him into the wall. Shock cut through No Claws' anger in that instant. She was probably more surprised than the Black Arrow, who had plainly had the wind knocked out of him and looked only slightly annoyed. Barsabas's free arm pinned both of the Dunmer's, and if he was at all concerned about the steel blade pressed between them, he did not show it.

"I'm not as fast as you," Barsabas said. His voice was completely emotionless, words falling into place like a line of bricks. "I just caught you by surprise, because you thought I wouldn't hurt you unless she told me to. You've got it backwards. I'd kill you in a second. In fact, I will. "

He hoisted the elf up higher, so that they were eye to eye. "She is a girl. That's true. Sometimes," his suddenly fluid speech faltered as he forced the words out, "She says… things she… shouldn't say. That doesn't change the fact that right this instant, the only thing standing between you and Oblivion is one word from No Claws."

Then he began to lean forward, crushing the Dunmer against the wall. The Black Arrow gritted his teeth, still unrepentant, and No Claws wondered momentarily how many of his ribs would break before they pierced something vital and he died. She could see it so clearly…

_No. I won't do that, _she thought, breaking the spell_. I won't _be_ that. Not when all he's done is say some nasty things, and I know some of them have to be true because, Divines help me, Barsabas just agreed with him._

"Put him down," she rasped.

Barsabas let go and stepped back. The Black Arrow landed neatly on his feet, sword in hand. He leaned against the wall, wheezing, as Barsabas backed away.

"Barsabas," No Claws said, between clenched teeth. Her tongue was bleeding.

"Yes, No Claws." He stopped beside her, but did not look away from the Black Arrow.

"Was that true?"

Barsabas didn't look at her. "Yes."

"Then I shouldn't have spoken to you that way," No Claws said as she turned to Nissa. "I'm sorry."

Nissa raised her head. "You are apologizing to your creature?"

"That's what I'm doing," No Claws said.

"Then there is indeed hope," whispered Nissa Trajian. Her eyes gleamed green and slick.

"Good thing, too," said the Black Arrow. He straightened up, shaking his head. "For a second I thought you'd let him kill me."

No Claws stared at him as he grinned breathlessly. "You did that to me on purpose," she said.

"Un huh. I had to know."

"You…" Words failed her again.

"Are you sure you don't want him dead?" Barsabas said.

"I'm thinking about it," No Claws said. "You had to know _what?"_

"Whether you could handle it," the Black Arrow said. "You hardly know what you've got, and you've got a temper to go with it. The mage folk think it'll ride right over you and you'll turn out like all the other ones. That's what the book said, right? If I'm gonna risk my neck for somebody like you I want to know good and sure you'll turn out to be worth it."

No Claws blinked at the sheer audacity of this. "Nobody's asking you to risk anything. _Certainly_ not me."

"Nope," said the Black Arrow. He sheathed his sword. "You think you can handle it all on your own, right? But Agronak doesn't. And if he's sticking around, so'm I."

"He's right about you, isn't he," No Claws said.

"Nerve," Barsabas said flatly.

"Un huh," said the Dunmer. He folded his arms. No Claws noted with considerable irritation that he hadn't stopped smiling yet. "You were gonna summon that ghost again, right?"

---

Negrin Ravenclaw set out from Bravil that same afternoon, when the winter sun had fallen far enough to be out of his eyes. Sunsets were early in the winter. It was Negrin's favorite time of year.

He went without a horse. Horses never seemed to like Negrin very much. Besides, they weren't so very much faster, and he didn't mind the run. He'd padded the vials at his belt so they didn't rattle or break, and with the number of them he'd brought, he could keep going for quite a while. He was hoping for a taste of Dremora at the end of his road, but it would be unwise to bank on it. Cyrodilic vampires are a more cautious breed than their cousins in Vvardenfell.

Unlike some of his brethren in both places, however, Negrin was no fool. Cyrodilic vampires are also, when they take the trouble to learn, naturally inclined to the school of Illusion. And he hadn't come into his present line of work without a certain mastery of the discreet arts.

Negrin smiled slightly. It was probably going to be a boring evening, but one never knew, did one?


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Charm spells: making you talk like an Oblivion NPC. That's how you know they are evil._

_There's an interesting dichotomy in the game between a)vampires as near-invincible illusionists and b)vampires as crazed creatures that are easily killed with fire spells. _

Chapter 21

"Do you hear something?" Agronak said. He stood beside the brazier, watching the dead man's bones crumble in the flames. In the normal course of things it takes some time to burn up an entire human corpse, but magical fires are somewhat hotter and certainly hungrier than the conventional kind. The stench, unfortunately, is the same. Agronak tried not to breathe in the smoke.

LoAmai turned toward the East, lowering her head. She stood near the bulk of the ruin so that she was not silhouetted against the West and the sunset. "No."

"I guess I imagined it," Agronak said. He squinted. The sun was still above the horizon, and the uneven glare made it hard for him to see. He might have seen some twitching movement in the long grass, or it might be his eyes playing tricks on him. _Probably all this dying I've been doing lately. Preys on the nerves, _he thought dryly.

It was about that time that the sphere of green mana flew out of the grass and knocked LoAmai sprawling. Agronak drew and turned in one fluid motion, but the unseen spellcaster was as fast as he was. The next spell hit him full in the face. He staggered a step, then paused as a warm, relaxed feeling shot through his veins. Why was he holding a sword, again? He sheathed it. Someone was walking out of the grass. Someone not too tall, in a dark cloak and a hood.

"Hey," Agronak said genially. "You were invisible." He could tell he wasn't thinking very clearly, but it didn't matter. The stranger would fix it.

"Indeed I was," said the human. Only he wasn't. Agronak had very good hearing, and the sound of someone speaking without drawing breath is distinctive to a knowing ear.

"And you're Undead," Agronak said.

"You're very observant, for an Orc," said the stranger. He seemed to find the thought amusing. Agronak smiled in spite of himself. The vampire went over and nudged LoAmai with his foot. She didn't move. Agronak had a feeling this should worry him, but he couldn't imagine why.

"Well, yes," Agronak said. "I'm only half Orc. My father was a vampire, like you. I doubt whether it's entirely that, though. My mother didn't miss much."

"How very nice for you. Pity she didn't manage to pass down her magicka resistance. Your father obviously was not a Breton, or you would not have succumbed nearly so easily to a charm spell."

"He was Imperial," Agronak said helpfully. "I'm afraid I've always been bad with Illusion. LoAmai is, too."

"By this I assume you mean the charming gentlem – I beg your pardon. The charming _lady _at my feet?"

"That's her. She hates mages," Agronak added helpfully.

"Yes, I see." The vampire drew a slim dagger from his belt and knelt beside the Dremora. "Come kneel over here, will you?"

Agronak went to kneel beside the stranger. The vampire handed him several corked cylinders of glass. Each one was bound with a piece of twine, so that it could be hung from a belt. "What are you going to do?" Agronak asked.

"Oh, I'm going to fill my blood vials from her veins, and then I'm going to drink her dry. After that I rather think I shall kill you. How does that suit?"

"Fine," Agronak said. He was now starting to get an inkling that something was seriously wrong, but his lips weren't cooperating with his brain. "Be sure and burn the body. I'm bad at staying dead. I don't think LoAmai will like that, though."

"Yes, it's unfortunate, but there's nothing for it if I'm going to collect the reward."

"Reward?" Agronak said.

"The Guard Commander was rather insistent that I bring back your head. You seem to have upset him," the stranger said, in a tone of mild disapproval.

"Well, we did kill several of his men," Agronak said judiciously. "And some mages. That was partly Barsabas, but I don't suppose the Commander would care."

"Who, pray tell, is Barsabas?" The vampire rolled back one of the Dremora's sleeves and made a neat puncture, then held a vial over the spurting artery. He handed it to Agronak with the cork. The glass was hot enough to nearly burn his fingers.

"He's a zombie," Agronak said as he corked the vial and gave the vampire another one. "No Claws used to summon him, but he's learned to summon himself now. He's very quick. Used to fight in the Arena."

"Like you?"

"Yes, I killed him, actually," Agronak said. "It was a near thing, though. Still have the scars on my face. No Claws must've dug him up right after they buried him." He thought that over. "Can't have been easy, for somebody as small as she is. She's not very strong."

"Perhaps I will pay her a visit," said the vampire.

"Oh, I wouldn't," Agronak said. "She's a mage, and Barsabas sees things. They'll be harder to sneak up on than I was."

"Duly noted." The vampire shook the fingers of his right hand suddenly, then handed another filled vial to Agronak. "Rather warm, isn't it? One does hear things about the properties of daedric blood. I think I will have you try it first."

"Never did me any harm before," Agronak said.

"Oh, so you _have _been diverting yourself with the Dremora?" said the vampire.

"Not exactly," Agronak said. "I've never actually drunk it before."

"Then do try some now." The vampire handed Agronak another vial. Something deep inside screamed futilely in protest, and then Agronak tossed it off in one gulp. Fire spread down his throat, sharper than any liquor ever brewed and hot as boiling water. He made a choked sound and dropped the vial. The blood of a daedra, especially a paralyzed and very angry one, does indeed have properties of its own, and Agronak still had Dremora blood left in his veins from recent experiences. The new called to the old, and both caught fire and burned him. He folded up, groaning.

"Hm," said the vampire's voice. "Perhaps I won't drink it after all. You're not looking at all well. I suppose it may save me the trouble of killing you, but since I was planning rather to enjoy myself…"

The demon magicka hit the charm spell like a hot iron striking water. It left him suddenly, painfully lucid, abashed and infuriated at what he had done. Agronak shook his head, snarling, and then he drew his sword and jabbed at the vampire's chest. It missed by a hair as the stranger dodged. He rolled to his feet and fired off another green spell. Agronak was ready for it this time. He slid aside, and the mana puffed harmlessly on the broken stone paving. Agronak straightened up, panting.

"You unutterable, cowardly _bastard_," he said.

"Now that really is not an Orcish thing to say," said the vampire chidingly. "I kill things for a living. How I do it doesn't concern me. The final result is the same." They circled each other warily.

"You know what I'm going to do to you?" Agronak said.

"Nothing whatsoever," said the vampire calmly. "No half-breed ever born nor made is the equal of Negrin Ravenclaw. And you'll have no help from the demon. That spell will hold for an hour yet, and she'll be considerably weaker by that time."

Then he was forced to duck as an arrow whistled over his head. Agronak did not take his eyes from Ravenclaw as he smiled grimly. "Wrong," Agronak said.

"An impressive recovery," Negrin Ravenclaw said. "Even so, y - " He paused to spin gracefully away from Agronak's stab at his legs, his cloak flying out behind him. Two more arrows barely missed him. The third one hit him in the upper arm. A bright flame of mana blossomed at the point of impact. Negrin pulled it out, then staggered, a disbelieving expression on his face.

"The point is made of wood," said LoAmai. "Dipped in the blood you were so eager to drink."

"Very… Clever…" Negrin Ravenclaw fell to his knees. Very dark blood ran from the wound, faster than seemed warranted by the size of the hole. Agronak stepped forward and jerked the man's hood back, then seized him by his long black hair. Ravenclaw reached weakly for a dagger, but Agronak kicked it away.

"LoAmai," he said.

"Yes, Agronak." She padded up beside him, another arrow at the ready. Her hand was gory, but she seemed to have no trouble gripping the bow.

"You recall the conversation we had, in which you speculated on the taste of vampire blood?"

She smiled a lupine smile, baring her jagged teeth. "I do."

"Care to try some?"

"Yes," said the demon. "I would."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Ezri," No Claws said. "Was there any particular _reason _why you didn't want to tell me what it says on that sword?" She set the empty welkynd stone on a table. There was getting to be quite a pile of them. Barsabas now stood near the door to the room, staring out into the hallway.

"There was not," said Ezri Verrault. "I was curious as to whether you would permit my denial."

"Hm. Draw it again." The ghost drew his sword. Blue flame crawled along the blade. "Nissa, can you read it?"

The dead woman stared at the runes along the blade. "It says _Defender of the Dead."_

"I'd call that a sign," said the Black Arrow. "Wouldn't you?"

Nissa Trajian turned to look at Ezri Verrault. If he was at all unnerved by that flat green gaze, he showed no sign. "You knew," she said. "You should have told the gi – should have told her so."

"There was more at stake than her knowledge," Ezri said. "If she cannot tolerate dissent, even direct insult, she will prove what you and I both fear. You know this."

The Black Arrow raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like I came late to the party."

"Does anyone else have an irrational test they'd like me to pass?" No Claws said pointedly. "Nissa? Are you going to summon some sort of small animal and see if I butcher it with my teeth?"

"Someone's coming," said Barsabas. The Dunmer rose, frowning.

"Yeah. Sounds like..." He stopped. Then he grinned. A moment later, No Claws heard the soft scraping sound of a pair of shod heels dragging over the floor of the hallway.

"Agronak?" she said.

"It's me."

Barsabas stepped back beside No Claws as Agronak stalked inside. He was dragging a limp body by the collar. He tossed it easily into the center of the room, where it hit the ground with an audible _oof. _No Claws watched a fold of black cloak slide aside, revealing an extremely pale Imperial. At least, he had probably been an Imperial once. You didn't see red eyes on that race while they were alive. She scented the blood before she recognized the black stuff pumping from the gouge in his neck, but it smelled wrong. _Not like a living Imperial's blood. Not even like a dead man's. _To a sensitive Argonian nose, it had an acid tang all its own.

"That's a vampire," No Claws said.

"He just about had us," Agronak said. LoAmai walked up beside him. She was smiling in a manner usually associated with cats and canaries. "The contemptible little fiend is an illusionist."

"A very good one," said the vampire weakly. "Though yet again, your choice of words is not precisely… What one would expect… From an Orc…"

"He's only half Orc, as I'm sure he's probably already pointed out to you," No Claws said. "Are you all right, Agronak?"

"Fine," Agronak said shortly.

"Not sounding quite like yourself," the Black Arrow said.

"He was going to kill LoAmai," Agronak growled. "He made me do what I said I'd never do. The only reason he isn't dust is that she didn't like his taste."

"Bitter," LoAmai said consideringly. "And entirely too cold."

"I prefer mortals, myself," said the vampire. No Claws ignored him. She felt a small wave of charm trying to radiate off him, but he was evidently nearly out of magicka. _That won't last long, in here._

"I want to know whether he was here for the Dark Brotherhood, or on his own," Agronak said. "Can't trust anything he says. I thought you might be able to do something, since he's undead."

"He's not _my _undead," No Claws said. "He could lie to me just as easily as you. Easier, probably. I don't have much resistance to magicka."

"I do," Nissa Trajian said. "Or at one time I did." She came toward the vampire and squatted down, palm on the floor. The vampire rolled his head languidly to look at her. The two of them stared at one another for a moment. There was a faint fizz of magicka in the air between them, but it died down quickly.

"So it appears," said the vampire.

"Talk," said Nissa Trajian. "Are you here for the Brotherhood?"

"No," said the vampire. "The Guard Commander in Bravil was advertising for a lone mercenary. Someone with expertise in stealth." His voice had suddenly become much stronger. "I recently had a… disagreement… with the Brotherhood, in point of fact. I should point out, by the way, that their very existence is _supposed _to be a well-kept secret."

"It was in the Black Horse Courier," said Nissa Trajian. "Two years ago."

"I read it, too," No Claws said. "Back when I was at the University."

"Is that so? Here's another interesting thing," said the vampire. "Did you know a sufficiently powerful necromancer can reconstitute a vampire from ashes?"

"No, actually," No Claws said. "I didn't."

Ezri Verrault chuckled. It was a cold, dry sound. "I'll be seeing you shortly," he said to the vampire. Then he disappeared.

"I merely point it out because I note you seem to have more than one creature," the vampire said. "And I myself, as it happens, am bleeding out through the small hole in my right carotid artery. Perhaps you noticed."

"And why should I do that, considering you've tried to kill some friends of mine?" said No Claws. She ignored LoAmai's sudden, intent stare. Agronak just blinked.

"I would be bound to your service," the vampire said coaxingly. "Like all your summoned. I could be useful to you. Would you turn away one who has already suffered an agonizing death?"

"Don't listen to him," Agronak said. "He'll charm you."

"He's run out of magicka," said Nissa Trajian. "He can't."

"Keep it in mind," said the vampire. His head slumped sideways. A moment later, he dissolved into gray dust. It gathered itself into a neat pile in the middle of his clothes, individual grains sticking as if glued.

"You never know what we'll need," No Claws said, into the fraught silence that followed. "I could keep him in reserve. Talk to him through Ezri, until we're sure I can control him."

Agronak looked at LoAmai. "It has a pleasing symmetry," said the Dremora. "And he will hate to serve anyone. I am sure of it."

"Me, too," Agronak said. "It can't be a good idea, but I don't know when I've heard one recently."

"Then here's one," Barsabas said suddenly. "We should leave."

No Claws looked at him, aware that everyone else was doing so as well. "What?" she said.

"They'll keep coming," Barsabas said, looking down at her. His black hair slid forward over his shoulders, hanging like moss. "And there are too many."

"Dead man has a point," said the Dunmer.

"But it's still winter," No Claws said. "The rest of you may be tough as tenpenny nails, but _I_ can't survive much of a trip. Especially without the horses."

"So we'll take one of the braziers with us," Agronak said. "I can drag it on a trestle, if I have to. I don't want to see this happen again. And I don't care to have to kill people who deserve it less than Ravenclaw there." He nodded at the pile of ash.

"But where would we go?"

"I know a place," said Nissa Trajian. "I traveled often as a battlemage. It's to the East, in the mountains. We won't be easy to find there."

"Except we'll leave a trail a mile wide," said the Dunmer. "And we won't be able to travel very fast."

"The Guard Commander can't send too many of his own people after us," Agronak said. "And not as many mercenaries will show up if they know they have to track us themselves, instead of finding us sitting here waiting."

"Especially when people keep not coming back?" No Claws said.

"That's right," Agronak said. He surveyed the vampire's remains with distaste, but his earlier anger seemed to have evaporated. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Let me carry the ashes," Nissa Trajian said. "If he proves false, he can't charm me."

"Can you do it?" No Claws said. "Will you be all right with," she waved a hand. "All of this?"

"No," said Nissa Trajian. "I hurt. But I can stand it, now. And you need me, if you're to be the Defender." She reached out and gathered up the vampire's clothes around the ashes, making a small bundle. She tied it carefully with the belt.

"I can't promise you won't regret it, because you do already," No Claws said. "But I won't forget. And I'll always do what I can for you."

"She always does," Barsabas said. No Claws slid an arm around his waist and hugged him unabashedly. He hugged carefully back.

No Claws let go reluctantly and turned to the others. "What about you? Do you really want to come with us? I mean, I'd like that. But the Dremora did have a point the other day – I've gotten you into more trouble than you've gotten me. You've saved me more times than I remember."

"I told you she could hear you," Agronak said.

LoAmai shrugged. "I will go where Agronak goes. Further than that, there is no point in saying."

"What about you, Dunmer?" said Agronak.

The Black Arrow folded his arms. "_I'm _going to keep an eye on our budding necromancer here. Make sure she doesn't get too big for her breeches."

"Make sure you don't get too big for yours," said Barsabas. He and the mer exchanged a measuring look. The Dunmer blinked first. This wasn't necessarily his fault. Zombies are particularly well equipped for staring contests.

"I'm sure we're all very dedicated to keeping my ego in check," No Claws said dryly. "Though I'd think you'd realize having that many people that worried about it is only going to make the problem worse."

"You've grown up a lot, in the last few months," Agronak said. "And not the easy way. I'll stick by you."

"Then we have work to do," said LoAmai.

---

Negrin Ravenclaw found himself in absolute darkness. He looked around. At least, he felt that he moved his head to and fro; the view did not change in any way. Only blinking revealed that his eyes were open at all. His shod feet stood on something cold and even, like a marble floor under ice.

"Sithis?" he said.

"You have not reached your dark god," said a voice. "Unsurprising, since I gather you parted on less than ideal terms." It was close, closer than anything should be able to approach without Negrin's vampire senses detecting it. _I have lost more than my vision. _

"You would be the ghost I saw moments ago, perhaps?" said Negrin. "Your voice is familiar."

"I am Ezri Verrault," said the voice. "And you are?"

"Negrin Ravenclaw," said the vampire. He bowed, though there was no way the other man could see it. "Where are we?"

"Between planes," said Ezri Verrault. "Nirn has Aetherius on one side and Oblivion on the other, and this place circles it between the two. The young No Claws drew her first summoned from here. What is your real name?"

"I have no idea what you mean, old one," Negrin said coldly.

"Ravenclaw is not an Imperial name," said Ezri Verrault. "If you want to see the light of day again, the girl will have to summon you by the name you were born with."

Negrin sighed. He wasn't sure why he still seemed to have lungs, but breathing seemed roughly as optional as it had been while he was a vampire. "Negrinus Corvax."

"I thought it would be something of the kind. _If _she sees fit to summon me again, _perhaps _I will tell it to her."

"Why?" Negrin asked suspiciously.

"I am her summoned," said Verrault. He sounded as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth. "Should harm come to her, I will be trapped here for all eternity. I think you may perhaps be of use. I am sure she will make the attempt, at any rate. She has a certain level of naïve compassion for the dead. It is her one saving grace."

"That's unusual, in a necromancer," said Negrin. He licked his teeth. They still seemed to be fanged. "Aren't they rather the other way around?"

"Most of them are," said Ezri Verrault.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Epilogue

For obvious reasons, Negrin Ravenclaw never returned from Gedwendyll.

After a certain amount of time had passed, another party of killers set out from Bravil. They were ten in number, all of them specialized both in stealth and the darker arts of magicka. (They were fairly certain at least one of their number was a vampire, but she tended to change the subject when asked.) They approached the ruin just before dawn, creeping through the tall grass like serpents.

Nothing happened. One or two wandered around silently, scouting, but they found nothing. At last one of their number crept forward and watched the great stone door swing open.

They were greeted by absolute and utter silence. The ruin was empty.

---

"Aaaruooouuugh," said a zombie. The pack of dead men stumbled along behind the brazier, occasionally tripping in the frozen grass. They always got back up again.

"I don't see why we had to bring them," said Agronak gro-Malog. Muscles rolled like stones in mud under the skin of his bare arms as he leaned forward, dragging the trestle on which the brazier rested. LoAmai walked alongside, looking smug.

"I didn't want them to be lonely," said No Claws. "Besides, the ghosts would have missed Barsabas." Both Ayleids bobbed along through the air beside the dead Imperial, taking turns trying to catch his eye.

"You're an Argonian," said the Dunmer. "Don't see how you can stand the smell."

"You get used to it," said No Claws.

"I really hope so," said Agronak gro-Malog.

Finally,

THE END

_A/N: Thanks to all those who took the time to read and review this story, which went far longer than I intended. I don't plan to do further stories on Agronak, LoAmai and the crew, but they may show up in other stories about other characters._

_I made up the thing about reconstituting vampires, as it's not in Elder Scrolls lore, but what the heck._


End file.
